Hunted
by BreezipartII
Summary: If he could find Beth. If he could save Beth. If he could protect Beth. Maybe, just maybe, he could keep Beth. Then everything would be okay. BETHYL. Please review! Rated M for language, violence, and possible sexual situations (probably not graphic.)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: This is a Bethyl story set immediately following the episode **_**Alone**_**. I have no idea how things are going to work out on the show. I love Daryl and Beth and think they would be perfect for each other. I am very concerned for both of the characters on the show. This is my fantasy solution to the problem. Please, please, please reviews and let me know what you think! Thanks! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter One**

He was staring at a pinky finger. It was lying in the grass by his boot and Daryl couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from it. It was the color that was throwing him. It wasn't grey or decaying or all chewed up. No. I was plump and pink; fleshy, living tissue. It's former owner was a middle aged white male with thinning brown hair who was at that moment kneeling on the frozen solid ground about five yards away from where Daryl stood. The poor bastard was sobbing and begging God for mercy. Now, Daryl had never been a particularly religious man and he just couldn't bring himself to believe that God was going to hear this man's prayers. Not in this world. Not today.

Sure as hell not with Joe and his boys around.

Daryl had been with them now for about three days. They were big talkers. Daryl had been around big talkers all his life. Normally the talk ended up not amounting to much. Then he had seen them in action.

They were more than just talkers.

A weight settled deep in Daryl's chest putting pressure on his already abused heart and he couldn't seem to swallow the sour taste in his mouth. There was so much blood. Blood everywhere. Its coppery scent filled the air, seemed to permeate his clothes, his hair, everything. It was bound to draw walkers from every damn direction and still these men laughed and carried on with their knives and their hammers. Their rocks. Daryl had never been one to run away from a fight but he wanted to turn and bolt. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and these psychos as he could but somewhere inside of himself he knew that he would get far. They would come after him. It was the type of guys that they were.

Part of him wondered why he even cared. He'd lost everything. His home. His family.

Beth.

Oh, God, Beth.

He could still close his eyes and see that damn loopy grin of hers. He could still hear her giggle, her sweet singing as she clinked away at that old out of tune piano. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms.

"_You are gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon._"

Dammit!

Joe appeared by his side, pulling him from his thoughts. In his hand, he still clasped the bloodied rock that he had used to smash the man's ankles. "You don't want in on this?" he asked Daryl.

"Nah," Daryl said, "not really my thing."

Joe chuckled and slapped a hand on Daryl's back, "Don't worry, son. It will be. You'll find your sea-legs soon enough."

_Or shoot myself in the head_, Daryl thought to himself. He grunted in response and Joe laughed and headed back over to join in on the torture. Daryl stayed back on the pretense of looking out for walkers. He didn't know if he could bring himself to waste a bolt saving one of these pricks, but it was an excuse that kept him back and away from the sickness.

It took another two hours before they finally let the man die. They then stripped his meager camp to the bones and then headed out. Daryl lingered behind just long enough to jab his buck knife through the dead man's skull before he could turn. He could do that for him at least.

He was tired. Hell, he was exhausted down to his damnedable bones. He was tired of fighting off walkers. He was tired of having everything that he loved torn away from him. He was tired of dealing with the multitude of psychotic personalities that this world seemed to breed like swamp rats. Why the hell couldn't he just let go?

Because there was something inside of him, some deep pull that wouldn't let him quit. Wouldn't let him just let go; just give up. Something made him want to keep going; made him need to keep going.

So, he put his head down and followed Joe. His chances of survival were better in a group. He would follow Joe until he found something else; something better. Until he found a way out.

It was dusk nearly two days later when Joe spotted the campfire. It was a big damn campfire way off in the distance. Something about the size of that fire seem wrong to Daryl.

"Ooh doggy," Joe said, looking through a set of binoculars, "this one looks fun, boys."

"Lemme see those," Daryl said.

Joe handed him the binoculars and when Daryl looked through them, his world tilted on its axis yet again. His heart dropped to his stomach and his throat grew painfully tight. There were about ten men all gathered around that bonfire. Beyond them were these six cages, dog crates or something; all lined up in a neat row. Each one of those crates contained what appeared to be a female. And one of those females—Daryl would recognize that mass of pale blonde hair anywhere.

"Sumbitch!" he spat, still glaring through the binoculars.

"Somethin' wrong, son?" Joe asked.

"Those assholes got somethin' belongs to me."

Joe grinned. When most people smiled, it was something that made you feel warm and happy inside. Joe was not one of those people. His grin was not a pleasant sight. It was laced with coldness and just a touch of evil. "Wanna got take it back?"

Daryl lowered the binoculars and turned to look the devil dead in the eyes, "Abso-fucking-lutely."

**A/N: Well, that's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm sure everyone knows who is in the crate. Please let me know what you think. Feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome. I am trying to keep Daryl in character, but in keeping with what I have seen in the show, he is constantly evolving so I am trying to go with that idea as well. Please review and tell me how you think I'm doing. Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Hi! Okay, so I probably won't always be able to update this quickly but this chapter was in my head and wouldn't get out! **

**Okay, I have to respond to this, GeorgieGirl75, not only did your comment have me giggling my booty off, but thank you! That was exactly what I was going for! **

**With that, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Please continue to do so. Okay, I'll stop blathering and let you read. Let me know what you think! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Two**

Joe seemed pleased when Daryl offered to take point as they approached the strangers' campsite. He saw it as a sign that Daryl was going to start showing some enthusiasm for their chosen pursuit in this brave new lawless world. He was convinced that it had something to do with all those women locked up in those tiny little cages.

He just didn't know how right he was about that; nor how wrong he was about the motivation. That was fine with Daryl though. Let Joe think that he was some kind of sexual deviant, he really didn't give a damn. Not as long as he got her back.

"They're settled in too damn cozy," Daryl growled, crouched down low as he eased forward, "That means they ain't worried about walkers. That means they got traps."

As they drew nearer to the camp, sure enough, they heard groaning, labored breathing and movement ahead. Daryl had his crossbow at the ready as they came upon the surreal sight. Around the clearing where the strangers had set up camp, they had placed barricades. Each barricade was equipped with long, sharpened stakes, spears basically. Walkers had just impaled themselves along the perimeter and gotten stuck. Didn't take much force. Their bodies were soft and rotting. Rotten flesh didn't make for a strong protective shell.

Daryl slipped between two of the spears that were walker free at the moment and climbed to the other side of the barricade. Without a word, he kicked the barricade until there was a gap for Joe and the boys to slide through. Idiots. You'd think that with the whole kidnapping and holding girls in cages they would know that the bigger threat in this world was other people; not goddam walkers and maybe make an effort to fortify against the predators that actually possess the ability to think. Daryl waited for a hint or tinge of guilt. It didn't come. These assholes deserved whatever Joe's assholes did to them.

Plus, he needed the distraction that they would provide.

They closed in on the fire and Daryl's eyes sought her out at once. Acid churned with suppressed violence in his gut as he looked at her. She was huddled in the corner of a fucking dog crate, curled in on herself like a beaten animal. If he figured out which one of these bastards had put her in that damn cage, he would tear him apart with his bare hands. He pulled back when shadow gave to firelight; let Joe take the lead. Let him make the first move. Daryl wanted to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

And, just as Daryl had known that he would, Joe entered the scene with a grand fanfare. He strolled right up behind one of the strangers, grabbed him by the hair at the back of his head and dragged him to his feet. Then, without pause, he slit the man's throat and grinned with mirth at the rest of the strangers, who seemed to be frozen in place in a kind of shock.

"Evenin'." Joe said, his tone cordial. Pleasant.

The strangers finally snapped out of their stupor but before any of them could even go for their weapons, the boys were on them. That's when the screaming began.

For the first time, Daryl ignored the depraved atrocities of his new companions. He didn't care. Let them do their thing. Have at it. He hunkered down low and slid over to the row of filthy metal cages. He had to take out one stranger on his way over. Single blow; knife to the temple. He didn't draw it out. Bastard would never know how lucky he was.

Then, he got his first up close look at her.

Beth.

Her hair was tangled and matted to her head with blood and sweat. Her clothes were torn. Low on her jaw, there was an ugly purplish bruise. She looked like hell and she was the most beautiful sight Daryl had ever seen—until he saw her eyes. That was the worst part of it all. Those big blue eyes had always been so vibrant and hopeful; unwavering. Now, they were flat, void, dead—like a walker's.

"Not givin' up on me, are ya, little girl?" he breathed.

Her gaze cut to him and BAM! It was like someone lit up a sparkler on the fourth of July, those eyes brightened up so fast. Came right back to life. Something squeezed hard in Daryl's chest. She flung herself forward, small, dirty fingers curling around the cage bars. "Daryl!"

"Shh," Daryl said, casting glances around to make sure everyone was still otherwise occupied before settling back on her, "Did they hurt ya, Beth? Did they—they touch you?"

Beth shook her head and Daryl released a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. Then, Beth gestured to the cage beside hers. There was a young brunette woman lying prone and bleeding at the bottom of it. "But, that girl," Beth said, her voice trembling, "they—they—right there. Right in front of me. They laughed the whole time while she—she cried and scre—they just laughed. I think I'm meant to be next."

Daryl's jaw tightened, "Ain't gonna be no next." He reached through the bars of the crate and caught Beth by the jaw. He didn't hurt her, but his grip certainly wasn't gentle, "I'ma get you outta here and you never leave my sight again."

Having said that, he pulled a crowbar from his pack and wedged it into the metal door. The shrill high pitched sound of the hinges giving was much louder than he would have liked, but he couldn't really bring himself to give a damn. The door fell open and dangled only by the lock. He shoved it to the side as Beth clambered out. He knew her well and was quick to catch her by the arm and get her to her feet before she could embrace him. They weren't out of danger just yet.

Over her shoulder, he saw that Joe had spotted them. His plan had been to get Beth and slip away during the attack but that clearly wasn't going to happen now. Joe had taken a step toward them.

Dammit.

"Alright, Beth, listen up," he rushed, "you gotta follow my lead, here, okay. I need you to be emotionless. Poker face, got it?"

Beth didn't hesitate. She didn't question him. She simply said, "Got it."

With that, Daryl grabbed her by the wrist and went striding toward Joe, tugging her along behind him.

"What you find there, Daryl?" Joe asked, leering at Beth.

"Find nothin'," Daryl said, "This is my property."

"Oh, we share in the spoils, son."

"Spoils is spoils. This is mine."

"Pretty thing. You ought to share with your friends."

Daryl wanted to tense up, prepare. Every instinct he had was shouting at him to grab Beth, fight his way out and run. They'd never make it. Not right now. He needed time to prepare, to plan. He forced his body to relax, letting his mind bring up a playback of all the chauvinistic bullshit he's heard Merle spout over the years.

With humor he didn't feel, he snorted, "You kiddin'?" he jerked Beth forward a little, put her on display. He hated himself for it, wanted to throw up even as he did it, but it fit the part he was trying to play so he had to do it, "Look at this bitch. She's grade A prime cut. All the rotten tail out there now, when you find a prime piece, you don't share. You savor."

"Agreed there, son. Been a while since I had me any prime."

"My condolences."

"Daryl—."

"I don't share what's mine."

"Yours?"

"I told you they took somethin' o' mine," He gave Beth a squeeze, "I took it back."

"She's yours?"

"Won 'er in a poker game from some asshole named—Shane. Sweet pot. Had a buck knife, four cans of blueberry pie filling and her." He slid his hand down to Beth's hip, "You can use your imagination about what happened to that pie filling."

When he watched Joe's eyes follow the progression of his hand, Daryl had to wonder if he was doing more harm than good here. It was too late to change tactics now. Possessive was better than protective with guys like Joe any day of the week. Joe's eyes continued to skim over Beth's body and it took everything that Daryl had in him not to shield her bodily from the predatory glint in his gaze.

"Well," Joe said, "maybe we could rustle up a desk of cards and have our own little poker game."

"Maybe," Daryl forced a smirk, "when I'm done with 'er. Til then, there's five other cages. Take your pick."

That said, Daryl made like the conversation was over and brushed past Joe with Beth in tow. He had bought them some time. Not a lot of time, but some. Joe wouldn't come after Beth tonight. Though, he couldn't help but feel deep down inside that all he had succeeded in doing tonight was pulling Beth out of the frying pan and both of them into the fire.

Joe kept a careful eye on Daryl and his new plaything, searching for any signs of affection, compassion, weakness. She was a pretty little thing with that fragile angel face and tight little heart shaped ass. He could understand Daryl's want to have her to himself for a while. Sweet little pussy like that, you don't want to wear out too soon.

But Joe worried. He was a worrier. He worried that there might be something more than possessiveness behind the younger man's actions. If that was the case, it would need to be addressed and dealt with.

_Still_, he thought, stealing another glance at Blondie, _what a tasty looking bitch._

All that smooth skin he'd bet anything was just as soft as it looked. He wondered how it would look with light dribbles of blood running across it. Deep crimson red against all that creamy whiteness. He wouldn't deny himself the pleasure of seeing that. He'd hold off for tonight. Let his newest have a good time with the little bitch. Tomorrow was another day. Or the day after. Hell, the anticipation was sometimes just as good as the act itself. But he would have her.

Maybe he would even make Daryl watch.

**A/N: Okay, I felt dirty even writing that last section but I think Joe is a seriously twisted mister. But on a lighter note, Beth is back with Daryl! All is not quite right with the world but at least they are together. So, again I plead with you, please, please, please review and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Well, here is the next chapter. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I really hope that you enjoy reading it. Be sure to review when you're done. I crave the feedback. It is essential to me! ;-) **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Three**

The boys found a house to hole up in for the night, but not for a while. Not before Beth got to witness firsthand the kind of men that Daryl had been living with for the past week. He kept a firm grip on her elbow the entire time. He could feel her trembling as she watched as two of Joe's boys, Steven and Thomas, shoved one of the stranger's face into the fire and held it there. The smell of melting body fat and burning flesh permeated the air around the campsite. Another man, Leon, pulled the body of the man whom had had his throat slit by Joe over to the row of crates. He shoved it in with one woman and then locked the cage door again.

"Don't worry, darlin'," he taunted the hysterical woman, "he'll take real good care of you once he wakes up."

Another one of the women they left in the crate. Just left her there; like an animal in a trap. Joe set a bottle of water on the ground just beyond the reach of her arm and laughed as he walked away.

Another of the strangers they stripped down naked and—did things to him. Daryl whispered for Beth to close her eyes. She stared down at the ground but she couldn't block the sound of the high pitched shrieking that seemed to echo and vibrate in her ears.

Daryl didn't feel much sympathy. He usually could drudge up sympathy for a fellow human being, but these bastards he didn't consider human; not after what they had done to these women; what they had intended to do to Beth. The only people in that camp that he felt bad for were those women. Joe and the boys wouldn't look after them. Hell, they had already proven that. Of the two women left in the crate, they mercifully shot one in head. Too ugly and used up, they had said. The shell-shocked little brunette that had been in the crate next to Beth's; her they took with them.

Daryl had managed to sneak a few looks into her face. There was nothing behind her eyes. No fear. No hope. Nothing. She had shut down inside. Daryl felt a little part of himself die inside at the realization that there was nothing he could do for her. The most he could hope for the girl was that she wouldn't make it through the night. He honestly didn't think that she would. It was triage and Beth was his only priority. He wanted to get her away from the strangers, away from Joe and his boys. He wanted to protect her.

He wanted for it to be just them; to have her all to himself again.

After spotting the house that they wanted for the night, the broke in, did a quick sweep and secured it. After, Daryl watched as the catatonic little brunette was hauled into what had once been a living room. He felt a nibble of sorrow, but turned away and all thoughts of the brunette left his head forever. Steven had Beth backed against the wall and was trying to shove his hand between her legs.

"Hey!" Daryl barked, but it was Joe that grabbed Steven by the scruff of his neck and tossed him away from her.

"Play nice, boys," Joe said on a chuckle, "don't break your toys."

"Joe," Daryl said, stepping forward and discreetly putting himself between the gray haired man and Beth, "you'll understand if I want my own room tonight."

"Course."

"Good." Daryl responded and nudged Beth toward the stairs.

"What just a damn minute!" Steven bellowed, earning himself the patented Dixon glare, "What the hell is this? She's fair game!"

"The hell she is!" Daryl snarled, "We discussed this once already, Joe."

Joe, calm and patient, the consummate benevolent leader, said, "Now, Steven. I promised Daryl that we would abstain from Blondie here for a while. Give him a chance to—break her in. It's only for a night or two. Isn't that right, Daryl?"

That wasn't the conversation that Daryl recalled, but what the hell ever. "Yeah."

"This is bullshit." Steven sulked.

Daryl pulled Beth to the bottom of the stairs and dragged the tattered gray sweater from her arms. He held the material to his nose and took a deep breath. It smelled of dirt and sweat and blood with just an underlying feminine scent that was all Beth. He tossed the garment into Steven's face, "Here. Jerk off to that. The rest is mine." He shoved Beth up the first few stairs, "Get upstairs, girl."

He guided Beth into the first bedroom that they came to and shut the door behind them. He flipped the lock for all the good it would do if the boys decided they were coming in and then turned to face Beth. He was expecting the cold shoulder or a glare or at least a good solid slap for his behavior. Instead, he found himself enveloped in one hundred and ten pounds of blonde. No sooner had he turned around than Beth had thrown herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. Daryl wasn't a hugger, but he grabbed onto that little girl and held tight. She was all he had left in the world. He wouldn't lose her again.

He gave her one last squeeze of affection before taking her by the upper arms and setting her away from him to look her in the eyes. He needed her to understand the seriousness of their situation. "Beth, we gotta get outta here." He whispered.

Her whole body shuddered as she frantically shook her head, "But it's night. You said we never travel at night."

"Beth, if we stay, these guys, they'll take you away from me. They'll find a way. And then they'll make what you saw happen to that girl look like a romantic high school date."

Beth crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. Daryl went to the window and looked out. The room was facing the back of the house. The roof of the back porch jutted out beneath their window. They could get out that way. First things first. "Okay. Okay," he turned back to Beth, pulled off his leather cut and the dark blue flannel he wore underneath and offered it to her before sliding the cut back over his own shoulders, "Put this on. We're gonna go out the window and head for the woods. There's a river not too far from here." He took a breath and scanned the room, "Gonna block the door first. Make some noise."

"Noise?"

Yeah, noise. You know—moan or somethin'."

"What are you talkin' about?"

"Ain't you never been with a guy before?"

"What!" Beth didn't know how she had managed to keep her voice soft as she thought she might choke at the question.

"Well," Daryl went on, tugging at the large brass bed to pull it in front of the doorway, "you had that guy at the farm? What's his face? Jimmy? Didn't you ever—"

"Daryl!" she could feel heat flooding her cheeks and was thankful for the lack of light in the room.

"That a no?"

"That's a no."

Daryl ceased in his efforts to move the bed and stared at her for a long moment. Such a long moment that Beth started to feel just a little discomfited by his scrutiny. She broke from his gaze, stared down at the floor to take a second to gather herself before looking back up at him. His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as he stared at her with an expression that she had never seen on his face before and didn't altogether understand. The sound of footsteps outside the door snapped them out of the trance.

Daryl darted around the foot of the bed, grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her hard. Her knees caught the mattress and she fell backward. The springs squeaked as they gave under her weight and the abrupt impact cause a small breathy gasp to escape her throat. Daryl lightly clapped his hands together once and then growled in a firm tone, "Dammit, girl, I _said _c'mere!"

This was met with a deep approving chuckle that sounded from down the hall a ways. Daryl nodded, seemingly satisfied with the performance and then went back to task of trying to move the heavy bed. Beth immediately sprang up from her prone position and began assisting him.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they had it positioned in front of the door. The bedroom door swung inward, so it wouldn't be an easy feat to get it open with that behemoth in front of it. Not impossible, but damn difficult. That accomplished, Daryl went to the window and carefully started to ease it open. He and Beth both winced as the swollen wood creaked with the movement. Beth sat down on the bed and bounced up and down in place to try and mask the window with the squeaking springs. She didn't know how effective her attempt was but it was the only thing she could come up with.

Daryl didn't try to open the window all the way; just enough that they could wedge themselves through it. He stepped out first and scanned the length of the field between the back of the house and the woods with his crossbow. They could make it. They would make it. He turned back to the window and Beth handed his bag out to him. He strapped it to his back before reaching a hand out to help her out onto the roof. Her steps were sure and light-footed behind him as they made their way down the slanted roof of the porch. Daryl felt something warm and tight deep in his belly. Pride. She wasn't that meek, scared little girl from the farm anymore. That girl would never have made it out of that cage. But this girl, this _woman_ had made it out and she wasn't broken.

Hell, no. His girl was tough as they come.

Daryl peered over as they reached the edge of the roof. It was about a nine foot drop to the ground below and a hundred yard sprint to the tree line. No cover until there but he didn't see any other options.

"I'ma drop first. Make sure it's clear. I'll help you down then we're gonna run like hell for those trees." He whispered.

Beth nodded her understanding then couldn't do anything but watch as Daryl dropped out of view. Those were the longest few seconds of her life, standing alone on that rooftop. Even longer that the time she had spent with those men, and she used the term 'men' loosely here.

Sitting in that cage, she had formulated a plan. There was no way in hell that she would have let them do to her what they had done to that other girl. When they came for her, she had decided, she would fight. She didn't care what it cost her, what it took, what she had to do, she wouldn't stop fighting until she got hold of a weapon. And then—she would have turned that weapon on herself. She didn't want to die, but there are things that are worse than death and she had just witnessed them. And if she managed to give herself a fatal wound, there were two scenarios. They would either shoot her in the head and send her home—home to her momma and daddy—or—she would turn and tear the bastards to pieces with her teeth.

Either would have worked for her, really.

But something wonderful had happened instead. A miracle.

Daryl's light whistle brought her back to the present. She eased her way to the ledge and without the smallest hesitation dropped from the roof and into his outstretched arms.

Daryl set Beth on her feet, snatched up his crossbow and started hauling ass across that field, confident that she was keeping stride beside him. They had reached the halfway point and Daryl had just about convinced himself that they were going to get away clean when a gunshot ripped through the air and slammed into the ground at his feet. Without thought, he caught Beth by the elbow and shoved her unceremoniously to the grass. In the same movement, he swung back toward the house, crossbow at the ready.

It was Joe. At the edge of the porch steps. Alone. Aiming a gun right back at Daryl. "Where ya goin', son?"

"We just need us a little alone time." Daryl retorted.

"So, you just leave in the middle of the night? Why, I thought we were friends."

Beth shuddered at the sarcasm, the cold malice that seemed to line every word that came from this man's lips.

"Oh, yeah," Daryl chimed, "we're B.F.F.s."

"Weren't you even gonna say goodbye?"

"Thought I'd send you a postcard."

Joe burst with a loud cackle that reverberated in the airwaves around them and lowered his gun. Daryl did not lower the crossbow. But he did catch sight of Steven on the rooftop with a rifle trained on him. The same of Antony at the corner of the house.

"Ya know, I like you, Daryl," Joe went on, "I like your style. And you know how I feel about a bowman. So, tell you what, I could use a little excitement—."

Beth felt bile creep up the back of her throat as nausea sent her stomach rolling. The end of the world wasn't exciting enough for this guy? Who had Daryl gone and gotten himself tangled up with?

"—so I'm gonna you and your blonde little treat there a head start. You can have 'til sunrise. That's about six—seven hours. Make it count, son, 'cause I'm gonna hunt you down. When I find you, and I will find you, I'm gonna tie you down and make you watch everything we do to that pretty little girl of yours."

With that, Joe turned and headed back into the house. Daryl watched as Steven and Antony faded back into the shadows. Then he reached down and helped Beth up to her feet.

"This is bad." He said.

Beth nodded, "Yeah. I get that."

"We gotta go, Beth. We gotta run."

**A/N: Well, again, that's all I have for now. I hope you enjoy it. Please, please, please read and review. Let me know what you think! Thanks! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I hope that you will keep doing so! Here is the next chapter. I know that they are going to be playing the next episode tonight and we will probably learn some more about Joe. I have a very clear character in my head for him and I doubt that my interpretation will be like that of the show, so don't hate me when I don't try to conform him to fit what he is in TWD. I know ya'll understand that after 'Alone' my universe is different than that of the show but I just wanted to throw that out there. Anyway, here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it and PLEASE review! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Four**

Daryl more or less dragged Beth through the woods; zigzagging their way between trees and shrubs until he could no longer see the house. Only when he knew that they were well out of sight did he allow them to pause. Beth leaned back against a tree, bracing her hands on her knees she struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes locked on Daryl. Despite being short of breath himself, he shouldered the crossbow and quickly scanned the area around them. Satisfied that they had at least a moment, he set the bow at his feet and walked over to Beth. Dropping to one knee, he removed the scabbard that held his buck knife and fastened it around Beth's hips.

"We'll pick up somethin' else along the way, but this'll do for now." He said. He wasn't letting her continue on unarmed.

"You found me," Beth said softly.

"Ain't got time for that, now."

"Do you think he'll keep to it? The head start thing?"

"Yeah. He wants to draw this out. Make it last. Hunt us."

Beth smiled at him, but there was no humor in her eyes, "What else is new?"

Daryl picked up his bow and looked at her. He didn't give a damn about Joe. Not really. He had Beth back. That was all he cared about. "Let's go."

They went on in silence. They weren't running anymore, but they were moving fast. Daryl clearly had a plan in mind but he wasn't sharing. Beth was used to that. When he needed her to do something, he would let her know. Usually, he would let her know without saying a word. She had gotten really good at the whole nonverbal communication thing with him. She didn't need to hear him say 'go left' to know when he wanted her to go left. A subtle tilt of his head or even just a slant of eye told her everything that he needed her to know.

They were being chased by a pack of disturbed monsters, but there was only a small part of her that was really afraid of that. When she had been grabbed by those strangers outside the funeral home, she had thought that that was it; that she would never see Daryl again. That was the thing that had hurt her the most. Once that thought had burrowed into her brain, she had decided that she no longer cared what happened.

She had sat there and watched what they had done to that other girl knowing that they meant to do the same to her. Hell, they had taunted her with those intentions. But she hadn't cared. She had devised her death wish plan and she knew that it was all going to be over as soon as they opened her cage door.

And then there he was; like a dream; like a wish that she hadn't had the courage to make.

She would tell him later what his finding her had meant; what it made her feel. He would grunt and blush a little and hide it all by being taciturn.

And she would let him get away with it because that's just who he is.

Now, men who wanted to hurt Daryl by hurting her were after them but Beth knew that he wouldn't let anything happen. She smiled at the thought even as they ran through the forest. These assholes didn't know who they were messing with.

Up ahead, a lone walker appeared from behind a tree, spotted them and began stumbling toward them. It puss laden lips were curled back over jagged teeth. It let out an agonized snarl and reached one arm out at an awkward angle.

"Ain't got time for you," Daryl growled and bashed it in the head with his bow as he passed. He didn't even break stride.

No idea who they were messing with.

It seemed hours before they reached the river. He knew that Beth could use a rest but he couldn't let her have one. They had to keep moving. He would keep her moving all night and all the next day if he could. Joe didn't like to travel by night, didn't like to feel at a disadvantage, needed to have the upper hand at all times.

"We're goin' in the water," Daryl said.

"What?" Beth asked, "We'll freeze."

"Nah. Ain't cold enough for that. Not anymore."

"But, Daryl—."

"You really wanna argue about this, now? It's the best way to hide our tracks."

"They can track us? Like you?"

"I wouldn't put 'em at my level. Closer to Merle's. They know how to look for clues. C'mon, Beth."

He was done talking about it. The decision was made. The ground was still hard but the air had warmed considerable over the last month. They would be fine. When they entered the river, Daryl deliberately turned down with the current before stepping into the water. Once in, he cut back around and started heading against upstream. Beth didn't ask any more questions. She just followed his lead. It wasn't easy going. The water was up nearly to her knees with a strong current. Daryl reached back and took hold of her elbow to help her stay with him.

"Natural instinct is to go with the current," he explained without being entirely sure what compelled him to do so, "so we don't."

Maybe she wouldn't catch hyperthermia, but that didn't mean that the water wasn't cold. It poured down into her boots, making it a battle every step to just keep them on her feet. Her jeans were well past soaked and the flannel that Daryl had given her was sodden and weighing her down. She caught the tail ends and tied them up at her ribcage in a somewhat futile effort to make things easier. Her teeth were chattering violently, creating a jarring in her head that she didn't think would ever come to an end. Still, she continued on. She trusted Daryl. Had complete confidence in his judgment, his skills. If turned and told her to drop to her knees in the water and start digging for China, she'd take a deep breath and do it.

Daryl had had Beth in the water for hours. He knew it wasn't cold enough to do any damage, but he wanted to get her out of it nonetheless. She was exhausted and to keep her constantly fighting the current and cold seemed borderline cruel even though it was the best plan. The sky was too clear and the moon entirely too bright. Any other night, he would have loved the lightness and extra visibility it provided. Not tonight. Tonight it felt like a liability.

In the distance, he spotted what appeared to be a bridge spanning across the river. While he didn't particularly relish the idea of putting them out in the middle of a road, he couldn't pass the opportunity to get them out of the water while causing as little disturbance to the bank as possible.

Closing the distance to the bridge, his reservations all but vanished when he saw that it wasn't a road; at least not the kind he had originally thought. It was a railroad. Near the base of the bridge, exactly where he had expected it to be, Daryl spotted the concrete culvert that allowed rain water to drain away from the tracks and down to the river.

He pointed it out to Beth. She nodded and veered in that direction. The two of them scurried up the small concrete path, leaving behind slopping wet footprints that would, with any luck, be dry within the hour.

Beth managed to drag herself up to the railroad tracks, but as soon as she was there, her legs gave out and she dropped. Her knees hit hard, her palms scraped against the wooden tracks as she struggled to drag air into her lungs. She had been down less than a second when Daryl's large, rough hand wrapped around her bicep and pulled her right back to her feet.

"Don't get lazy on me now, girl," he said, tugging her along as he started to jog down the tracks.

So, she pushed through the fatigue. It wasn't even that difficult for her anymore; to ignore the cramping in her thighs, the soreness in her feet, the burning in her lungs. That was just part of life now. She ignored it. Daryl had taught her to. And as her eyes drifted to the horizon, she was grateful to him for always pushing her just a little bit harder.

"Oh, God," she gasped.

Daryl knew what she was seeing. The clear darkness of the night sky was starting to lighten. The stars were no longer visible. Too soon, slanted slivers of gold and orange would breach the blackened landscape.

Sunrise.

Daryl released his hold on Beth's arm, but reached down and took hold of her hand. He wanted to know she was close, to know that she was right beside him. They had to push on. They had to push hard. No way was he gonna stop and let Joe close any of the distance that he had put between them. No way in hell.

The river had been a good way to hide their tracks. The railroad was even better—at least for a while. He didn't like being so out in the open. So exposed. Vulnerable. They would keep to the tracks for at least a few miles, then veer off into the woods where he could keep them in some cover.

He glanced over at Beth. God, she was an amazing woman. He knew that she was cold. He knew that she was wet. He knew that she had to be starving. And still she went on. Hell, she kept up. Not once had she whined or complained or asked if they were there yet.

Amazing. She was amazing.

That was something worth dying for, right there.

Sunlight played through the leaves of the tress and warmed the weathered skin of his face. The boys stood behind him as Joe studied the large boot prints on the riverbank. At the last second, the prints angled downstream and Joe couldn't help but wonder, _was that intentional?_

Joe hadn't been acquainted with Daryl for long but he had always considered himself a quick study of character. And that boy was quiet. He was quiet, he was observant and he was a hell of a lot smarter that he let on. That little blonde bitch had stolen one hell of a recruit from him. Joe would make her pay for that.

He would enjoy making her pay for that. Making them both pay.

But that would come later. First, he had to find them and now he was wondering if Daryl had really gone downriver as his tracks implied. Or had that sneaky redneck son of a bitch doubled back and headed up?

Blondie was just a slip of a thing. It would be a real struggle for her to fight that current and make good time. Downriver should have been a no brainer for them.

"Okay, boys," Joe barked, "we're headed upstream!"

**A/N: Well, that's it for now. Please, please, please review and let me know what you think. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed! I really do appreciate it, more than I could ever say. Here is my latest installment. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I tried to dig around a lot in both Daryl and Beth's minds. I hope you enjoy what I pulled out of them. PLEASE be sure to REVIEW and let me know! Thanks so much and on to the chapter!**

**Hunted**

**Chapter Five**

Daryl kept them on the train tracks until the sun was at its highest point in the sky. He kept quiet, speaking only when he absolutely had to and then keeping it blunt and succinct. Beth followed suit but her breath was coming in loud, small pants through her mouth. He knew that she was tired but he had to keep her moving. Hell, they hadn't stopped moving since he'd dragged her to her feet in that field. He knew she needed rest and he was determined to take care of her. At the very least he needed to get some food into her.

_After sunset,_ he told himself. After he was certain that Joe was somewhere hunkered down for the night and not snapping at their heels. Only _then_ would they stop. _Then _he would feed her, he would let her rest, he would let her know how glad he was to have her back at his side.

He nudged her off the tracks and into the cover of the trees. He slowed their pace, taking care not to make too much noise. If he could avoid leaving a trail of dead walkers for Joe to follow, it would definitely be for the best. Aside from that, Beth was in no shape to fend off an attack at the moment.

He had just been about to swing his crossbow onto his back when he spotted the rabbit, a fat brown thing. He aimed and fired without a thought. It was pure muscle memory. The bolt went through the rabbit's left eye, it didn't so much as twitch its tail. With a quick grin in his direction, Beth trotted up ahead to collect their meal. She pulled the bolt out, wiped it on her jeans and held it out to him as he drew nearer. She held the rabbit up by its ears and touched her free hand to the hilt of the knife at her hip.

"Should I clean it now?" she asked.

He remembered at time she flinched as so much as the sight of blood. Not anymore. Not his girl.

"Nah," he said, "that's dinner."

She nodded and tucked the carcass into the bag on his back. As they continued on their way, Daryl kept casting sideways glances in her direction. Finally, he gave into the impulse that had been nagging at him and asked, "How ya holdin' up?"

"Are you kiddin'?" she said, turning her head to look at him, "I thought I'd never see you again, Daryl."

"I followed the car, Beth," Daryl blurted. He needed to tell her that; needed to make sure that she knew he had come after her, "I did. I kept followin' it 'til I came to a fork in the road. Even I can't track a car over asphalt."

"Daryl," Beth said, her tone so gentle it physically hurt him.

Daryl kept staring straight ahead, so she stopped walking and repeated his name, "Daryl, look at me."

He did stop walking but couldn't seem to bring himself to turn and face her. He was too frightened of what he might see on her face. Disbelief? Accusation? Disgust? Disappointment?

"Please, look at me, Daryl," she pleaded.

Jaw tight, shoulders tense, he turned. There were tears welled up in those big pretty eyes of hers. Her chin and bottom lip were quivering. In that moment, Daryl knew that he would give anything to take her pain away. All she had to do was ask it of him. Then, something astounding happened. She smiled. Stepping forward, she laid one hand on his forearm. She was the only person that ever been able to touch him and it not cause him to involuntarily flinch away from the contact. Her blue eyes bore directly into his own, "Daryl, when I saw you through those bars, it was the happiest moment of my life."

The words didn't register all at once. It must have shown in the blank expression on his face because she was prompted to repeat, "Of my entire life."

The softly spoken sentiment caught him hard in the gut. He would do anything for her. He would kill for her, die for her, go to the ends of the earth and the gates of hell for her. No one was going to take her from him again. Maybe he had used it as a front when he had said it earlier, but the words had held more truth than he had been ready to acknowledge.

Beth Greene belonged to him.

He wasn't so good with words. Never had been. Please, the realization was still too new, too raw. He reached over and squeezed her arm. Then he broke the contact and started walking again.

Beth wasn't upset or offended at his seeming lack of response. She fell into step behind him. He didn't have to speak. He didn't have to say anything at all. She knew that he was just as happy as she was that they were back together. Still smiling, she wiped a teardrop from her cheek and took a few quick steps until she was walking by his side—right where she belonged.

As duck approached and the sun began to sink behind the trees, Beth's steps began to grow clumsy. It was fatigue setting in. She was crashing. Daryl grasped her elbow to try and help steady her. He took in the state of the sky. It was beginning to get dark. Joe and the boys would be looking for somewhere to bunk down for the night.

He would do the same.

He wouldn't set up camp outside though. He didn't want to risk a fire, not when Joe was so damned good at spotting them from a distance. No.

Besides, he wanted to find a house for Beth. Somewhere she could rest and be at least a little comfortable while doing it.

It was well into the night when they finally found one. It was bigger than Daryl would have liked; a two story plantation style house that would be a bitch to sweep and secure. But beggars couldn't be choosers and he would make it work. He pulled his crossbow from his back and looked to Beth. She had already unsheathed the buck knife. He didn't like the idea of her going in with just the knife. If someone was gonna take on a walker hand to hand, he'd rather it be him. He toyed with the notion of giving her his bow but just as quickly dismissed it. She was a decent shot, no doubt. But she was exhausted, weak. He didn't know if her arms could support its weight in her current state and he didn't want to take the chance. He had another knife, smaller than the buck but just as sharp. If he had to use it, he could.

They went through the house together, one room at a time. It was locked up tight, the windows boarded up, the doors all nailed shut. There were two walkers. Daryl easily dispatched the first with a bolt and Beth took out the second with a quick upward thrust of the knife. Daryl couldn't help but smile at the way she cringed just a little when her hand came away covered in the unnaturally dark walker blood. He reloaded the bow and motioned for her to keep moving.

They swept the house both upstairs and down, but it was the basement that caught Daryl's attention. It was mostly underground with six small windows at the tops of the walls. The windows were level with the ground and Daryl would be able to see if anyone approached with a minimal risk of them seeing him. The floor of the basement was concrete. He could build a small fire, let the smoke vent through the slats of the windows. That wasn't ideal but it was definitely less risky than chimney smoke. He decided that the basement would make the perfect shelter for the night.

Before they settled in though, they needed to see if there was anything usable in the rest of the house.

In one room, Beth discovered a brown leather messenger bag and a hatchet. She tucked the hatched through her belt loop, knowing that Daryl would be happy to have his buck knife returned to him. She also discovered a sleeping bag that was a little mucky but clean, a battery operated lantern that still had some juice in it and a couple of pillows. She hauled her treasures down to the basement before returning to the main level to hunt some more.

In another part of the house, Daryl found a dark green sweater that looked like it would fit Beth. He took that along with a little white sleeveless shirt that he had come across as well. It wasn't much, but he knew that she would appreciate some clean clothes. One his way to the door, he spotted a pretty little blue blanket with pink and green flowers all over it. It may have been the most girly thing he had ever seen and it didn't look particularly warm, either. It wasn't practical in the slightest. Still, he found himself tucking it under his arm for her.

Scattered throughout the emptied out kitchen, Beth had found two cans of spinach, one can of corn and one can of hot dog chili with beans. Not a bad haul all together.

A grunt from the hallway drew her attention. She pulled the hatchet from her belt loop and crept forward. What she saw was Daryl attempting to maneuver a mattress down the basement stairs. She didn't quite know what to make of the sight.

"What're you doin'?" she asked.

"We're about to spend the night in a reasonably secure basement. No reason to sleep on concrete if we don't hafta."

It was the first time she had laughed in a more than a week.

Once they were downstairs, Beth busied herself by shaking out the sleeping bag and spreading it out over the surface of the mattress. Daryl cleaned and roasted the rabbit over a small fire that he had built underneath one of the windows. Once the animal was cooked through, he immediately stomped the fire out. The lantern that Beth had found provided a dim light as Daryl split the rabbit into two portions and discreetly slipped Beth the bigger of the two. He crossed the room to the mattress and set the plates on the floor.

"Take off your boots and socks," he told her, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pulling off his own boots, "lay 'em flat. They need to dry."

Beth nodded and did as he said. The soles of her feet were white and wrinkled and tender. Funny, she hadn't noticed any discomfort until she saw them. It was amazing what the brain could block out when need be. She was massaging her sore toes when she spotted the small pile of material at the corner of the mattress.

"What's this?" she asked.

Daryl glanced up from his food. When he spoke, it was around a mouthful of rabbit, "Thought you might want some dry clothes. Found those upstairs. Looked like they might fit."

He was rewarded with her radiant smile and the sight of it caused his breath to catch in the back of his throat. Again and again, she continued to bewilder him. She'd seen her mother and step brother gunned down in front of her, watched her father be murdered, lost her sister, been abducted and subjected to God knows what, and on top of all that, she'd had orders continually barked out at her by a white trash redneck twice her age. All that, and still, she could smile at him like that over something as small as a sweater. She smiled at him in that way, he felt like he could take on the world.

She stood and turned her back to him before removing the dark flannel shirt that he had given to her from her shoulders. Then, she peeled the filthy, torn once yellow polo up her torso and over her head. Daryl stopped chewing mid-bite. A nuclear warhead could have gone off outside and he didn't think he would have been able to pull his eyes away from that smooth, pale expanse of skin. He could hear the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, the back of his neck grew uncomfortably warm and his fingertips began to tingle. She didn't know what she was doing to him. She couldn't. She had the prettiest back he had ever seen, all lean muscle and soft skin. He imagined he could span the curve of her waist with his two hands.

It was as though the world had slipped into slow motion as he watched her pull on the clothes he had rummaged up for her. When she had the sweater on, she turned back to face him and Daryl quickly averted his eyes. He had never thought himself to be a lech before, but then somewhere along the way he had stopped thinking of Beth as a child and seen her as the woman she had become. When had that happened? After the prison was taken? Before? It all blurred together; a collage of moments, conversations and stolen glances. She was the only person that he had ever let get away with hugging him. More than once, too.

And now she was his; his to provide for, his to take care of, his to protect—his to cherish.

She sat back down on the mattress to eat her meal. Daryl took a breath to fortify himself, licked his fingers clean then grabbed his bag. From within it, he withdrew the soft gauzy blanket that had caught his eye upstairs. He took just a moment to run it through his hands. It was silky and delicate. Perfect.

Just like her.

He cleared his throat, "Um, I, uh, I saw this upstairs. Thought you might—you know."

He held out his offering.

Still smiling, Beth's gaze dropped to the gift in his hand. Slowly, the smile faded from her lips as she reached from the beautiful floral throw. Once it was in her hands, she could feel how thin it was, how light. It was far from the most practical of blankets. Her eyes left the dainty material and met his steady blue stare.

She knew then that he wasn't giving her this blanket as something to help her survive. He had wanted her to have something pretty. He had wanted to _give _her something pretty.

It was the most beautiful present she had ever received.

She had been half in love with Daryl Dixon for at least a year. To jump over that second half and into all the way had taken nothing at all. A blanket.

As he looked at her, she wanted to hold him; to have him hold her.

But he cleared his throat again, looked away from her and went back to eating. The moment was lost. Beth felt the smile reclaim her face. She wasn't worried. She would have another moment. There were very few things in this world that she was sure of, but she was sure of that.

Joe sat in an old beat up lawn chair on the roof of the double wide trailer that he and the boys were shacking up in for the night. It was more meager accommodations than he usually went for nowadays but his options had been significantly limited. They had spotted train tracks off in the distance as the sun had started to set. He considered himself a betting man and train tracks seemed like a sure thing to him. They made for a great path to follow and a good way to hide which direction you went. Joe hadn't wanted to stop. He felt a fire in the pit of his gut that told him he was closing in.

But he couldn't travel by night. The boys got twitchy in the dark. Jumpy. Useless.

So, he sat on top of the trailer and scanned the darkened horizon. He didn't see any signs of fire, but then Daryl was smarter than that. Yes. Yes, his bowman was a clever one. Clever and skilled.

A worthy prey.

**A/N: Well, that's all for now. I know that not a lot happened in this chapter, but I really felt that Beth and Daryl deserved a little bit of a breather. Also, I wanted a chance to explore how they were feeling about each other while they weren't constantly on the move. How did you feel about it? Please, please, please review and let me know!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Okay, first and foremost, thank you to everyone who reviewed. Now, I have to address a few specific reviewers. **

**Erotic Dreams- I have a method in my writing. I write things out and then I rewrite them twice more before actually posting a chapter. I try to keep at least three chapters ahead. When I read your review, I started laughing. You will see why as you read. I don't want to give anything away, but you were very, VERY close. Let me know what you think! **

**Now, an anonymous guest reviewer asked if I have ever seen any of the interviews with Norman Reedus where he discussed Daryl's inexperience. I have. I love Norman Reedus as an actor and devour anything I can find of him. As to Daryl's experience, in my story's universe, I do not think Daryl is a virgin, but I definitely agree what Norman has said in that when something happens between the two characters, I want to feel like they have earned it. Also, when it happens (and it is very close to happening, I promise) I have a very specific idea as to who is the aggressor and how the other party is going to react. If anyone else has seen these interviews where Norman discusses this, then I don't think it will be a surprise. It will, however I am sure, be a lot of fun to write. Keep reading and let me know what you think!**

**Okay, to everyone else, thank you, thank you, thank you for reviewing. Please continue to do so and let me know how you feel about what is going on! Thanks so much! On to the chapter! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Six**

Morning had yet to break but Daryl stood with his crossbow, staring out the window of the basement. He had never been a sound sleeper; not in his house. There were too many arguments happening all the time and you never knew when you would need to head for cover. You learned to sleep light and awaken quickly. A few hours rem was all he really needed before his body naturally woke on its own. So, he stood watch. It was getting lighter outside, they needed to get going. He should really wake Beth.

He glanced over his shoulder to where she slept on the mattress. She was bundled in a coarse, grey wool blanket but underneath he could see the edge of the light blue flowered piece he had given her. She hadn't slept in days. She was exhausted. But she had tossed and turned half of the night.

Then she had looked over to where he had been sitting up against the wall underneath the very window he now stood beside.

Her voice had been soft, quiet, "Daryl?"

"Yeah, Beth."

"Would you c'mere? Just for a second?"

He had been confused by the request but he had pushed to his feet and walked over to her all the same. Her eyes had been luminous, two shining beacons in the dark. She withdrew on slender hand from beneath her covers and raised it up to him. "Lay down with me, just for a minute? I need you close."

Daryl couldn't believe how badly he had wanted to do just that but he had remained standing, frozen in place.

"Please," she begged, "Every time I close my eyes, I think I'm back in that cage. If you'll hold me for a little while, I'll know you're real. I'll know I'm safe."

If had been heaven and hell all at the same time. Every instinct that had been beaten into him since birth had made him want to shy away from that moment. Instead, he had reached his hand out. The fingertips brushed before her small, cold hand curled around his. He felt awkward and clumsy as she had drawn him down to her side on the mattress. His joints stiff as planks of wood, he had stretched out on his back beside her. She had rolled toward him and lay her head on his chest.

Daryl wasn't sure how much time passed before he breathed again, but when he finally did, it was the scent of her hair that filled his nostrils, pooled into his lungs, seeped into his body. Even mixed with the dirt and the sweat and the blood, Daryl couldn't remember having ever smelled anything sweeter. Before long, her breathing evened out and he knew that she had finally drifted off. Only after he knew that she was sleeping did Daryl give in to the impulse to actually touch her. He stayed in that position for hours with her head on his chest as he stroked a hand over her hair. He fell asleep as well.

Daryl stared at her now from across the room once again. Extracting himself from her arms when he had woken had been one of the hardest things he had done in his entire life. She had been all warm and soft. Had he ever held anything so soft?

If he had, he couldn't remember it.

_Enough of this_, he thought. He needed to wake her up. Get moving. He managed to drag his eyes away from her and back to the window just in time to see three men closing in on the house.

"Shit!"

It wasn't the boys. They hadn't been tracked; not yet. But most people out there weren't like Rick or Tyreese; they were like Joe. They were like the governor. No way in hell he was letting any single one of them near Beth.

"Beth," he said in a harsh, almost frantic whisper as he knelt down by the mattress to shake her, "Bethy, wake up. Time to go."

She stirred from slumber and rubbed her fists over her eyes, "What?"

"There's some guys outside. We gotta go."

Beth didn't ask any more questions, nor did she dawdle. Rather she sprang to her feet, pulled on her still damp boots and began shoving supplies into her newly acquired messenger bag. Daryl motioned her over to the window with him. He had lost sight of the intruders, so he slowed his breathing, cleared his mind and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. There was a loud bang as the front door was most likely kicked open. They were gonna sweep the house. The crashing of that door may as well have been the starting pistol of a race with how quickly Daryl sprang into action at the sound. He popped out one of the windows. It would be snug but they could squeeze through. He grabbed Beth's bag and tossed it out, followed by his own. The footfalls above his head were as loud as ancient war drums.

"Ladies first," he said before boosting Beth through the narrow opening, then scrambling through himself.

As soon as she was outside, Beth hurried to her feet and flattened herself against the side of the house to wait for Daryl. She was checking back and forth in either direction and sliding her bag over her shoulder as Daryl emerged and got his feet under him. He scanned the perimeter while pulling his bag onto his back. Then without looking at her, just instinctually knowing where she was, he reached back and caught Beth by the elbow. The two of them crouched as low as they could and darted away from the structure that had served as a night's sanctuary.

Daryl slowed their pace to a brisk walk once he was confident that they were out of the sightline of anyone that might be in the house. They hadn't been seen. It was about time something went their way for a change. He released his hold on her arm as they slowed down. Beth didn't hesitate. As soon as he let go of her arm, she reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.

"Was it Joe?" she asked, breaking the silence that had hung between them since Daryl had opened that window.

His grasp curled around her hand, "Nah. Dunno who they were. Not takin' any chances, though. Not again."

"Daryl—."

"No," he cut off whatever she might have said, "Never again. Far as I'm concerned, there is only _one _good person left out there and I aim to keep her safe."

Something warm and wonderful flooded through her entire body at his words, even if he was wrong. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze thinking that there were at least two good people left. She wanted him to look at her. She wanted to put her arms around him. She knew that he was determined to keep her safe, to keep her alive. And she was all for that. But they could run forever. She didn't want to run forever. She didn't want to exist for the sole purpose of not dying. She wanted a home. She wanted some semblance of a life. And she wanted that with Daryl.

"Where're we goin'?" she asked.

He didn't answer. Just kept walking. She still held her hand which was reassuring but after everything, she needed more than just blindly relying on him to handle anything that might come their way. She needed to know the objective. If she knew what they were heading toward, the goal at hand, then she could be helpful in achieving it. She could be useful.

"Daryl," she said, giving his hand a light tug, "I'm scared—."

"I'ma take care of you."

"I know that!" Frustrated, this time she pulled him to a complete stop so that she could look him in the eyes, "But I can help you. You know I can, you taught me how. Tell me where we're goin', what we're doin' and—and I can help."

Daryl could do little more than just stare at her for a long moment. Her eyes were so big and round and glassy with determination. Her chin jutted out just the slightest bit as though daring him to contradict what she had said. Without his consent to do so, his hand tightened on hers.

Beth wouldn't allow doubt to enter her mind. Daryl would see it; see through any act she put on. He was the smartest, most observant man she had ever met in her life. And she needed him to have faith in her, to believe in her just a little. No more would she been the naïve, hapless little girl who sang songs and spent her time looking after the 'other, younger children.' She wasn't a child any longer. She wanted him to be able to see that about her; _needed _him to acknowledge her as a woman.

Daryl seemed to come to some internal conclusion, then pointed to their right, "Those tracks we were on yesterday are that way. Not too far, but not too close. We're walkin' parallel to 'em. They'll run along the edge of a town eventually. We keep an eye out, we're gonna find us a car. Get as far from here as we can."

"Okay, then," she said with a wide smile, "now I can help."

"C'mon," he said, drawing on the hand that still grasp his to get them on the move once again.

They hadn't been walking for ten minutes before Daryl swung his crossbow up and fired. The walker hit the ground while releasing one last gurgling snarl. It wasn't alone, however.

There were seven of them that descended; a pack of drooling, roaring, rabid beasts. Daryl managed to get off one more bolt, taking down on more walker before dropping his bow and unsheathing his knife. Beth had pulled the hatchet from her belt. The odor was strong, overwhelming. Stagnant blood, rotten, decaying flesh, death. It seemed to wash over Beth as the walkers bore down on them. She swung at the first one that came at her. She caught it in the temple, spraying her in the face and chest with dead, blackened blood, but the thing went down.

Daryl was faster than she was. He hacked the side of one walker's head clean off and pinned a second to a tree before jabbing it through the eye. He did all of this in what seemed to be one, long fluid motion. A walker was headed for his back and Beth leapt forward without thought. It grabbed onto Daryl's shoulders, but she reached out and caught hold of the collar of its grimy, threadbare shirt and jerked it back away from him. She then kicked it in the back of the leg, bringing the creature down to its knees and enabling her to slam her hatchet into its head just below the ear. Two left.

Daryl had one on the ground, trying to get a good blow to the thing's head while the other staggered toward her.

She brought her weapon down, embedding the blade in the top of its skull. The walker dropped. Beth took a deep gulp of air, willing her body to slow the adrenaline flow that was going on in her bloodstream. Daryl was still grappling with his walker so she went to help him, but her hatchet stayed stuck in the skull of the walker she had just taken out. She jerked on the handle again, a little harder. Nothing. She wrapped both hands around the handle and tugged again. It didn't budge. The damn thing was really wedged in there.

The bushes to her side rustled. Beth gave another frantic pull at the handle of the hatchet. An eighth walker emerged from the brush and came at her. Beth jerked again at the hatchet but her hands slipped from the handle and she fell backward, landing in the dirt with a thump. The walker closed in on her. It had been a man. The side of its face had rotted off and its left shoulder hung down at an unnatural angle. It gnashed its teeth and spit and sputtered as it drew nearer. Beth crab crawled backwards, trying to escape its reach and get back up to her feet. Its gnawed on, skeletal fingers scrambled for purchase on her legs when a wonderfully large hand wrapped around its forehead and jerked it back. There was a quick, somewhat squishy and all too familiar sound of steel entering flesh and the walker feel to the side.

Daryl stepped forward and helped her up. "Lose somethin'?" he asked.

"It got stuck." Beth defended.

"Mmm," Daryl mumbled and walked to the corpse that still had the hatchet buried in its head. He grasped it with one hand and gave a pull. The hatchet didn't move. He glanced up at Beth from the tops of his eyes and she didn't even try to hide the told-you-so expression on her face. He offered no more concession than a sideways smirk, but that was enough for her. He braced his foot on the walker's head and yanked her hatchet free. Flesh and brain and bone fragments flew through the air as he un-lodged the blade.

"Nice arm," he said when he handed it back to her.

Beth tucked the weapon back in her belt and watched Daryl retrieve his two used crossbow bolts. Wiping them on the leg of his pants, he turned toward her and said, "C'mon, Badass. We can't stop now."

Joe received none of his usual enjoyment from the three men they had discovered in the large plantation house. They were a sad substitute for the quarry that he really wanted. He worried that it was these men that they had tracked from the railroad. Had Daryl gone the other way? Had his instincts failed him? It was disconcerting to think so. What did he have if he could no longer trust his gut?

One of the bedrooms had a mattress missing so he took the other one. He lay on his back in the darkened room, staring at the ceiling and listening to the boys' raucous howling. He thought about Daryl. In the morning, after a good night's rest, he would reevaluate. No way would he let that boy get away. The girl either. No. He would find them and when he did—

They'd have to restrain Daryl somehow. Handcuffs or something like that. He'd slip any knot they put on him, of that Joe was certain. And if the boys tried to simply hold him down—well, Joe's money would be on Daryl. They'd find something though.

And then, Joe would go to work on Blondie.

He wanted to be able to see Daryl's face when he tied that bitch up and stripped her down. He wanted to bring agony to that boy's eyes when he drew his knife across her pretty, pretty flesh.

But first, he had to find them.

Dammit!

How had he gotten off track? That wasn't like him at all!

The door to the bedroom opened and Leon walked in. He tossed something onto Joe's chest, "Thought you might wanna see that. Found it in the basement—along with the missin' mattress."

Joe looked at the object that Leon had thrown to him and felt the grin spread slow across his face like melting butter. In his hands, he held a tattered yellow shirt. The very same shirt that had at one point been wrapped around Blondie's pretty little frame.

"They were here."

**A/N: Okay, that's it for now. I really feel like Daryl was helping Beth learn to be self-sufficient and take care of herself in the show and I wanted that to show here. I hope it did. I want them to be a unit. I hope you'll let me know what you think. **

** Now, I have a little poll question! I already know where I am headed with the story, but I am curious to know what you all think. The question is, what character do you want to see Beth and Daryl reunited with: Rick (therefore Carl and Michonne), Maggie, Glenn or Carol? Let me know who you feel would be the most interesting! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing (hint, hint, wink, wink.) **


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Hello all! Thank you to all who reviewed, you all have my heart. And thanks for answering the poll question! I have another one at the end of this chapter! **

**Flyteofheart- Thank you so much! That means the world to me! I am so glad you are enjoying the story!**

**Jordan- I had thought about that as well while watching the show. I haven't decided yet if I am going to address the signs in the story or not but it is definitely some food for thought. **

**Abitterkitten- Thank you! That's what I want them to be. We saw the beginnings of a great duo in the show and I love that in this forum, we are free to explore where that dynamic could have gone. I want Daryl and Beth to be the freaking Mr. and Mrs. Smith of the zombie apocalypse! They have a ways to go before they get there, but I have faith! **

**As to the poll, lots of votes for Rick. I get it. It's the ultimate bromance. Did anybody else freak last night when Rick called Daryl his brother? A few votes for Glenn. Mainly everybody wants to see Daryl and Beth hook up with somebody that would lend them an advantage with Joe. I LOVE that! Not so many votes for Carol. I honestly expected more if for nothing more than how uncomfortable it has the potential of being. Anyway, feel free to continue to cast your vote on the matter, but do check out my latest inquiry after the chapter! Thanks again to everyone for reviewing! Keep it up! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Seven**

Their camp on night two wasn't nearly as cozy as the house had been. In fact, it felt strangely similar to the first few nights that they had spent together after losing the shelter of the prison. The main difference, and it was a big one, was that they were no longer staying together out of some weird obligation to do so. There was no one out there that Beth would rather be with. She would love to find her sister or Glenn—and little Judith—but when it came down to nuts and bolts, the person she wanted by her side was Daryl.

He wouldn't light a fire. He didn't want to take the chance of them being spotted. He didn't feel they had covered enough distance. They were moving too slow. Beth was weak and tired and probably going through a mild case of shock, though she didn't seem to notice it. Hell, who would in this day and age. The dead were walking around eating people. Didn't get much more _shocking _than that. Regardless, he needed to get her back to one hundred percent so that they could cover more ground in less time. But for now, no fire. So when he managed to snag a fish from a nearby stream, he cleaned it and fed it to Beth raw. It was hardly sushi grade but with a little coaxing, she managed to choke it down. It was a good source of protein and he needed to get her strength up. He couldn't ease up on her. Not yet. Didn't know if he'd ever be able to. But she needed to mend and unfortunately she would have to do it on the run.

Things would probably be better if he just killed Joe. Maybe set a trap and just take him out. He didn't want to put Beth in any situation where she could get caught again though. Risk his own life, sure thing, no problem. Risk hers, no way in hell.

Best for now to just keep moving.

He let her take the first watch. She was still awake and alert and he could wake up a lot faster than she did. It made sense. He'd take the second, longer watch and be able to get her up and going before dawn. So, he handed her his crossbow, leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes.

That night, he dreamt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a dream. Especially that particular kind of dream.

It had been about Beth.

He didn't remember it in its entirety, only random images, pictures. Her eyes, her smile, her skin—her bare, smooth skin. He had touched her in the dream, ran his hands along her body as she had smiled that enticing smile at him.

He had awoken in feverish frustration, drenched in cold sweat and harder than a thirteen year old boy in a girls' locker room. On top of that, he was pissed off at himself for letting his thoughts even go there when he had other, much more important things to be worrying about.

_Get your mind out of the damn gutter, Dixon_¸ he chided himself, _Focus_!

Blinking himself into a full state of consciousness, he looked over at the object of his current frustration. Who the hell could blame him, really? She was beautiful and pure and good right down to her bones. He'd be insane not to want to touch a bit of that goodness, right? Even now, filthy and grimy with her back against a tree, his crossbow resting in her lap and staring into the night with nothing but her profile visible to him, she radiated some kind of—light. He didn't know any other word for it. Beautiful.

He pushed to his feet and walked over to where she sat. Those baby blues turned toward him, reflecting light from the moon or stars or God himself and Daryl ached inside. "My watch," he said simply, "Get some sleep."

She smiled in that innocent almost loopy way of hers and then blinked those eyes in that slow, languid way that only women seemed to possess the ability to do. Then, she yawned behind her hand and offered him his crossbow. He relieved her of the weapon and made his speedy retreat back to his own tree. He turned his body away as he sank down to sit, but out of the corner of his eye, he kept his gaze locked on her. He watched as she dragged the pretty blanket that he had given her from her bag and draped it over her body. He watched her close her eyes and try to get comfortable. She turned on one side, then the other, then back again and finally onto her back.

_Okay, that's enough_, he told himself before forcing all of his attention to the distance and the task of standing guard.

It was maybe half an hour later that Beth sat up and blew out a discouraged breath. She just couldn't seem to find a position against that damned tree that would let her sleep and she was so tired. Rubbing a hand against the back of her neck, she looked over at Daryl. She couldn't help but grin at his vigilance as he stared out into the darkness, wary of any threat that might approach. Tucking her lovely blanket around her shoulders, she got to her knees and crawled over to where he sat.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I'm cold," she responded and, without waiting for any hint of permission, she leaned against him. She felt his whole body stiffen at the sudden contact but that wasn't nearly enough to deter her. She snuggled right into his side and laid her against his shoulder, just as she had done the night before. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her as he had done before. He didn't but neither did he push her away. She let herself take encouragement from that. Finally content, she closed her eyes and basked in the comfort that came with his presence. His scent was so familiar to her now. He smelled of those things that everyone smelled of this day and age; sweat, blood, dirt. But there was something else in his scent that was uniquely and individually _Daryl_. It was wonderfully masculine; trees and leather and just—him. Just Daryl. She loved it.

That was the thought meandering through her head as she finally lulled off to sleep.

He couldn't believe how small she felt curled up against his side the way that she was. He had always known that she was a tiny thing, but seeing her at his side with her knees pulled to her chest and her face tucked against his arm just hit him like a kick to the stomach. Looking at her now, peaceful in her sleep, he would never have been able to guess at how strong she was.

He had an almost uncontrollable urge to rest his own head against the top of hers and just close his eyes. From the moment of his birth, he had been fighting. It seemed that he had spent the vast majority of his existence with his back with his back against a wall trying to fight his way free. He was damned good at it by this point. But when he was with Beth, something happened inside of him that had never happened before; he felt at ease. All the violence, all the mayhem, all the pain and suffering and sacrifice and grief; it all faded into the background when she was near.

All those feelings were still present; they had both been through too much for them to simply vanish. But when he was with her, the feeling that came to forefront of all those others was—hope.

A noise not too far in the distance drew his attention causing him to lean forward and shoulder the crossbow. When nothing materialized, he chalked it up to a fallen branch or something along those lines. Nothing to get all het up about. But his sudden movement had caused Beth's head to slide from her place on his shoulder down into his lap.

His entire body stilled as he looked down at her. His vision went hazy and there was his damned thundering heartbeat again. The sight of those silky, golden tresses spread across his upper thighs sent a flash of fire through his belly—and lower. When he felt that uncomfortable, aching throb just below his belt, alarm sirens started sounding in his somewhat addled brain.

It was okay, though. It was fine. She was asleep and therefore unaware of his sin. No harm, no foul. It did, however, bring him to the conclusion that it was time to get on the move. The more often they traveled under a dark sky, the more distance they put between themselves and their pursuers.

Maybe it was time for a little distance between himself and Beth, as well. Metaphorically speaking.

He set his crossbow to the side and wrapped his hands around her shoulders, marveling again at the slightness of her stature. He eased her up and away from where his pants had grown noticeably snugger before giving her a soft shake.

"Beth," he said, getting his lips as close to her ear without actually touching her as possible, "Beth. Wake up, lil girl."

Her response to his gentle urging was to throw one arm around his neck, tuck her head under his chin and pull her body even tighter against his own. Daryl had to pause and take a deep steadying breath before making his next effort to rouse her.

"Beth, wake up."

She burrowed even deeper against him. "Jus' fi'e more minu's, Daryl. Promise." She slurred, her lips and breaths like fire against the skin of his neck.

Irritated with her behavior, and more so with his response to her, Daryl yanked her away from his body and gave her a not-so-soft shake, "Time to wake up."

She sat up then, struggling to open her heavy lidded, slightly puffy eyes. As soon as she was no longer resting against him, Daryl was on his feet, putting some much needed space between them. The last thing she needed was for him to freak her out with his momentary lapse in control over his hormones. Best she never know the direction that his thoughts had ventured in those stolen moments. He couldn't bear the idea of having her be uncomfortable around him for any reason. He turned toward his gear but his attention stayed centered on Beth.

She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back in a very feline-like move and Daryl had to bite back a groan. Then, she scratched her fingers over her scalp and climbed to her feet.

"It's still dark," Beth said, carefully folding the blanket that had in a blink become her most prized possession.

"I know," Daryl said from a few feet away, his voice gruff and low, "I don't like it but movin' at night is the smartest move for now."

He seemed to struggle with himself for a heartbeat before reaching a hand out toward her. Beth grabbed onto it without hesitation. Daryl pulled her to her feet and then released her hand as though it had burned him. He clasped both hands to his crossbow and said, "Stay close."

_No worries there,_ Beth thought to herself. She had no intentions of ever letting herself get separated from him again. It was a thought that seemed to keep repeating itself in her mind; that she couldn't be apart from him. He had become essential to her in every way. Her well-being, her very existence now seemed to depend on her proximity to Daryl Dixon. So, when her mind conjured up the mantra of not allowing their separation, the idea was prefaced by a feeling that was almost frightening in its finality. It was prefaced by the realization that she'd die first.

As dawn arrived, Joe let himself out of the house before any of his boys had woken up. He knew that Daryl and his tasty little piece had been there. He held the tangible evidence of that fact in his hand. It seemed that his redneck friend had paused long enough to get Blondie on of her clothes and on her back on a mattress.

At least the boy had his priorities straight.

The certainty that he was on the right trail spurned Joe's ego and with it, his desire to move forward. But, he needed to be smart about it and find his next steps. He walked down the stairs of the front porch and around the corner of the house, keeping an eye out for any recent disturbances. When he found what he was searching for, he took a moment to bask in the glory of it all. As sure as the dead were rising from the ground, Daryl and his little bitch had crawled through one of those little basement windows.

The ground was scuffed up and the miniscule window hadn't closed all the way shut. Two discernable sets of footprints trailed from the side of the house and veered off into the Georgia woods. He grinned to himself, staring off into the direction that the tracks lead.

"Almost."

**A/N: Okay. That's it for now. I like the idea of Daryl fighting against what he is obviously feeling for Beth. I think that he would so that's what I tried to capture in this chapter. I hope that came across. In light of what happened on last night's TWD (GO RICK!) I have a new poll question! Again, this will most likely not affect the outcome of the story as I have it pretty much mapped out already, but I am curious as to what you are thinking. The question: Who should kill Joe? Daryl, Beth, Carl, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, his own men, a walker, a stray cat named Eye in the Dark? Or should he die at all? **

**Once again, I look forward to hearing your thoughts (hint, hint, hint, hint.) Sorry. Subtlety is not my strong suit. THANKS! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead **_**nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Thank you soooo much to everyone who reviewed. I am pleased that you all seem to be enjoying where I am going with this. I have a few reviewers to address:**

**Entropy20- Honestly, I have no idea. I hope that they don't kill her. I feel like her character has so many places that she could go depending on the situation that she is in right now. Is she with good people or is she with someone bad? In season two, once she got past the idea of suicide and realized that she wanted to live (definitely not condoning how Andrea handled that, but it DID work) she became a much more optimistic person. Since then, she has tried to stay positive, even in the season three opener when she assured Lori that the prison would be "a good place to have the baby. Safe." And after watching what the governor did to her father, she was still the one to assure Daryl that there were still good people in the world; that there was still beauty out there. I just like her. I know there are fans of the show out there that don't like Beth, but I think someone who manages to keep that kind of attitude after everything that has happened to her is someone that I would like to see more of. And depending on what she is going through right now, there is potential for an amazing character arch. To be perfectly honest, I am much more concerned that the writers are going to off Daryl in five. It would be shocking and devastating to so many characters (and I might just stop watching the show if it happens.) So, at this point, despite current circumstances, I am more concerned for Daryl than Beth. **

**An Amber Pen- LOL! I am so glad that you are so enthusiastic for Joe's death! I agree completely with what you said about Daryl and Beth. They need each other. I think Daryl needs her more now than he needs anyone else (Rick included.) Before anybody lynches me, let me explain. I think that Daryl needed Rick most early one (circa seasons one and two.) He needed someone who recognized his person strengths and relied on him for those strengths. It helped give him a sense of self-worth that he had always been denied. I think he needed Carol just as much (around the halfway point of two.) She showed him that he was deserving of being cared about. I don't think Carol would make a good romantic partner for him (I LIKE Carol, for the record) because she has changed a little too much. She is harder and very pragmatic, which is not a bad thing. She is a survivor. But, I think, right now, what Daryl needs in his life is someone like Beth. Someone that not only shows him that she cares for him, but pushes him to care back. He needs that softness in his life. That's why I am all about Bethyl. **

**NanamiYatsumaki- Hehehe, glad you caught the cat reference! **

**FlyteofHeart- I want to assure you, that IF I decide to kill Joe (not saying I will, not saying I won't) it will be deliciously brutal. As to Daryl dealing with his hormones (or not as the case may be) I honestly couldn't see him handling it any other way! Maybe he will handle things differently in the future…then again…who knows. ;-) **

**Okay, I prattled on for a full page. You want to read the story now. Sorry. On to the chapter! (BTW-new poll question at the end! Hehehehe.) **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Eight**

Frustration. Yeah, that was the word for it. That was the word for the twitching, irritating feeling that was currently dominating Beth. Frustration. The air was cold out but due to her body's physical exertion, she was sweating. The dampness of her skin and clothing combined with the coolness of the environment was causing uncomfortable chills to vibrate throughout her body. She was constantly shivering. She was tired, she was hungry, she was dirty and yes, she was scared. But her biggest source of frustration out of everything—_Daryl_

Yes, Daryl.

Daryl, who had been so sweet when he had given her that blanket. Daryl, who had been thoughtful enough to find her some clean, dry clothes. Daryl, who had let her curl up against him to sleep two nights in a row. That very same man had reverted back to being distant, aloof and borderline cold. He shied away from her when she drew near, only touched her when he had no choice and only spoke when necessity called for it.

It was enough to make a girl want to rip her own hair out.

The sun was riding low in the sky. They'd be looking for a place to bed down for the night soon. Daryl stepped over a jutting tree root, but the toe of Beth's boot caught on it and she stumbled forward. She caught a handful of the leather material at Daryl's back to keep herself from face-planting in the dirt.

Daryl felt her grab hold of him, felt her hands on him. He whirled on her as she was straightening, ripping his vest from her grip. "Dammit, watch where you're goin'!" he barked.

His tone had been harsh enough to startle her and she visibly jumped at the assault. Daryl felt as though he had just kicked a puppy. He turned his back on her and started walking again. It was a kind of self-preservation tactic that had kicked in. He had come to the swift realization that the one good and decent thing that he had in his life was Beth. And good things had always had a way of slipping away from him. The world had never been that great of a place in his estimation but lately it had really taken a nosedive. Beth was a candle in the dark, the only bright spot that he could see. It had fallen to him to keep that brightness shining. The only way that he could do that was if she trusted him completely.

And if she knew of all the way that he had started to imagine her, the images of her body, the fantasies that he had entertained as of late, well, he didn't reckon that _trust _would be the prevalent emotion. So, he needed to stop looking at her in that way. Simple enough. Put a little space between them and he could take care of her without destroying the tentative bond that they had formed together.

Easy.

A little space and he could channel all of his focus to the task at hand; getting Beth as far away as he could as fast as he could. If he could keep his mind on that, if he could lock his attention onto a tangible goal, then he would be able to keep it off—other things.

There were more important things to consider than these unwanted and unwelcome physical urges that had decided to attack him. Those urges were strong, but he had damn good self-control that was stronger. There was something else that was gnawing at him though, something even stronger that the physical want and a lot less familiar.

Need.

A more terrifying word Daryl couldn't imagine.

Material needs he could understand. Food, shelter, clothing; these were needs that he had grown up with and learned to pretty much provide them for himself. It was the other kind of need that had always unsettled him. Those less concrete needs that most people understood to be part of human nature; compassion, companionship, connection. These were needs that had always more or less been denied to him by everyone and everything around him. He had learned to not only distrust these things, but to hate them. He had learned to see them as weaknesses, believed that they would make _him _weak.

It had taken the end of the world for him to finally accept the fact that those needs that he forced himself to hate did exist within himself, whether he liked it or not. Once he accepted that, accepted that people could care about him, that he was worthy of it, he saw the strength in those needs rather than the weakness. He had never been stronger that he was when he was at the back of a companion that he knew also had his back. He had lost that along with the prison and it had been a devastating blow.

Losing Beth had been damn near fatal.

He had reached a point where he could recognize his need for her, accept it. He didn't even hate it all that much. But he had been through another of life's little lessons. Those needs that were so a part of the human condition were double edged swords. He had to stop looking at them in the black and white; stop seeing that they provided with either strength _or _weakness. It wasn't one or the other. It was both. That was what he was coming to understand with Beth. He drew strength from her, from being near her, from her very presence. At the same time, the fear that something could happen to harm her ate away at him. He wanted to lash out at her, he wanted to keep her close. He wanted to scream out and damn the world, he wanted to fall to his knees and thank the universe. He needed to regain his balance. He was used to having conflicting thoughts running through his head; that was nothing new. What he wasn't used to was that he knew exactly what he was going to do about it.

He needed her, he wanted her, he'd do anything for her. He'd even protect her from himself.

There was a sudden loud rumble that crashed through the quiet from behind him. He spun around, tensed and ready to do battle but came to an abrupt halt. Beth stood perfectly still, staring back at him, eyes wide, her wild blonde hair framing her flushed red face. For a heartbeat he was lost in just how gorgeous she really was. Then he noticed that one hand rested against her flat stomach. Daryl's gaze went from her hand to her eyes to her hand and back again.

"That you?" he asked.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"That came from you?" he asked again and couldn't remember having ever heard that big of a noise from so small a person, "Good Lord."

He was glaring at her as though she had done it on purpose; like she had willed her body into making as much of a racket as possible. She was sick of it, sick of this. How dare he? She knew that he cared about her. Enough had happened to them now that there was no doubt in her mind about that. So, why had they now fallen back to that place where getting a reaction out of him was like pulling teeth? Why had he shut down on her again? Was she just supposed to sit back and let him get away with that crap?

Like hell.

"I guess I'm hungry," she sniped, hoping to provoke even a little.

"Guess so."

"I said I'm sorry."

"Ain't no reason to be sorry."

"Then stop looking at me like I'm some burden you have to bear!" Beth all but shouted the words in his face, almost as surprised by her sudden outburst as Daryl appeared to be. At the same time, the relief she felt of voicing her thoughts was wonderful—so she rolled with it. She closed the distance between them and shoved him hard in the chest with both hands, relishing in the physical contact no matter how brief, "God! I thought we were past this! I thought I was more to you that somethin' you had to _deal with_!"

"You are."

"Then why don't you look at me? Ever since we woke up this mornin', you won't look at me. You barely speak to me and—and you've stopped touching me." She paused to take a breath and tried to blink away the burning in her eyes, "I won't go back to that, Daryl. We've come too far. I—I care about you too much."

There was a long moment that the pair of them just stood there and stared at one another. The only sound was of Beth's racking breaths. Her slim shoulders jumped with every pull of air as though her body was working overtime just to accomplish the basic function. Daryl had hurt her. He'd have to be blind not to see how he'd hurt her. He knew in that instant that he would need to rethink the whole keeping-his-distance strategy. He could never knowingly do something that would cause her that kind of pain. That wouldn't sit well with him and he wouldn't do it. He wanted to protect her, not be another person to victimize her.

"Okay." He said.

"Okay?" she wiped an errant tear from her cheek with the flat of her hand.

"Okay."

"Okay."

They continued to stare at each other for another few heartbeats until Daryl grew uncomfortable with the silence.

"I ain't apologizin'," he spat.

"Fine."

"Let's go."

"Fine."

There was another pause and Beth thought for just a second that Daryl might say something else. Instead, he reached over and took her hand into his. He drew her to his side and they started walking again. It was something so seemingly small, but Beth knew what a truly huge step that was for him. They had held hands before, but somehow this was different. This was something new. She acknowledge that and stored it away for further analysis later. For now, she would just enjoy the moment.

"Guess I better feed you soon," he growled, but his tone lacked the harsh indifference it had held earlier, "another noise like that one and you'll have every walker in Georgia on our ass."

"Yes, Mr. Dixon," Beth said around a smile.

"Brat."

They were getting close. Joe knew it in his bones. They were closing in on them. He could sense it in the air; could smell them on the wind. Daryl was good. He had worked hard and hidden their tracks—but Joe had their trail now. He wouldn't lose them again. He wouldn't say that Daryl had grown careless in his efforts, he hadn't. But there was only so much you could hide. Once Joe got inside of Daryl's mind, one he knew what he was looking for, the signs were easier to spot. He felt himself smiling a lot lately. This was a great hunt. Fun. He stepped lightly, quietly. When he closed in on his target, he didn't want them to know what hit them.

No. He wanted to see surprise, disbelief, panic and resignation. Scratch that. He didn't want to see resignation. He didn't want either of them to give up. It was so much more rewarding to break someone when they fought you every step of the way. Daryl was a fight, a scrapper. That was apparent from just looking him in the eye. But he had also shown his weakness with Blondie. That would be his downfall.

But what about her. Would Blondie put up a fight? Would she scream, scratch and claw at him? Kick? Slap? Try to run away? God he hoped so. She had clearly been around Daryl for a while, so he bet she had some fight in her. He bet she would be a lot of fun to subdue. She may have looked like a delicate little piece of ass, but Joe had great instincts on people, and he would bet the house that she would fight back.

And, God, he loved it when they fought back.

**A/N: Kind of a short chapter, I know. But it was an important one. One of the things that I noticed on the show in the Beth and Daryl scenes was that she was ALWAYS pushing him to feel something. She hugged him in the season four opener. Daryl is not the kind of guy who likes to be hugged but Beth got away with it. Then, in more obvious ways in 'Still' and 'Alone.' I wanted to showcase that dynamic in this chapter. That she is still pushing him, she wants him to not only feel but admit that he feels. That is kind of key in their relationship.**

** Anyways, tell me what you thought of all this. Please, please, pretty please! **

** New poll question: Clearly, they are headed toward a relationship with each other. I don't think that is a spoiler for my story. It is obvious. So, my question this chapter: What character do you think, if any, would have the biggest problem with a romantic bond between Daryl and Beth? Rick, Carl, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn, Carol, Tyreese (I'll even allow Hershel as a choice, if here were alive and you think he would take issue with a relationship.) **

** Part two: Which of the same characters do you think would be the biggest supporter of said relationship? **

** I look forward to hearing your answers and thoughts on the chapter! Thanks so much for reading! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! As to the poll, the idea seems to be that Maggie would have a problem, but come around pretty quickly. I guess I could see that. Though my personal opinion leans more towards Carl, because I think he is still young enough to take issue with someone else getting there first when he had such a crush on Beth. There were just too many great reviews that I would love to recognize for me to do them all justice, so let me just say a huge THANK YOU to everyone and that I thought all of your takes on the poll question were really interesting. I love the thought that everyone puts into their answers. I am so happy at the response this story has gotten. I think I am going to have to start making use of that little 'reply to review' bubble. Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy the story and let me know what you think! Thanks again, sooooooo much! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Nine**

The days and the nights had started to blur together. Beth had lost track of how long they had been going. Time seemed to be nothing more than one long continuous stream of running and running and more running. They had found a road a few days ago; or had it been a week before? She wasn't sure anymore. But they had stayed on that road for a little ways, hoping to come across a usable car. Along the way, they had found a kind of flyer attached to an old telephone pole. It had been for some place called _Terminus_ and had promised safety; sanctuary. Those were things that sounded like miracles to Beth but Daryl was wary of anything that involved another group of people that they didn't know.

"I don't think it's a good idea," he had said, passing the flyer that Beth looked at with longing.

"But—but safety in numbers, right?" Beth had countered, double-timing her steps to catch up to him.

"We got you and me. That's all the numbers I care about. We don't need nobody else."

"But what if the people at Terminus can give us shelter? What is they can help us get away from Joe?"

"And what if they're just like him? Or the governor?"

"I don't wanna run forever, Daryl."

He had stopped moving and looked at her then. A rare soft expression had crossed his face as he had reached out and squeezed her shoulder, his thumb massaging at a tension knot where her shoulder joined her neck, "I know."

Beth had taken the opportunity to move in closer to his body, then batted her big, clear blue eyes at him, "Will you consider it at least? Terminus?"

"I'll think about it, Beth," he had said, "but I'm tellin' you now, I don't like it."

She had known that that was all that she was going to get from him at the time, so she had let it drop. That had been days ago and he still hadn't really given her an answer on way or the other. They had since abandoned the road. Two wide open, Daryl had said, no cover. They were still traveling in the direction of the supposed sanctuary, but he never said whether or not that was where they were headed.

At the moment, he had them both crouched down, hidden in a bunch of prickly bushes as they spied on a group of about five walkers up ahead in a small clearing in the distance. The two of them just sat there, watching them. Beth had gotten pretty good at interpreting whatever Daryl's plans happened to be at the time but she found herself at a loss as to why they were staring at a bunch of walkers. She glanced over her shoulder and gazed at Daryl's profile. He was working something out in his head. His eyes were narrowed like he was looking into a bright light and his lips were parted just the slightest bit. It was the expression that he wore when he was thinking through a problem. She had seen it enough to recognize it. She wanted to reach over and touch him.

That was a desire that had been hitting her more and more frequently as of late; wanting to touch him or wanting for him to touch her. She had always had that little bit of a crush on him. He was so different from anyone that she had even known before. It seemed like such a silly word nowadays; crush. A silly word for a silly schoolgirl—and it didn't even come close to doing justice to what she felt for him now.

"I don't understand," she said in a hushed whisper, "they don't know we're here. Why can't we just go around?"

"Nah," Daryl replied, "don't you see deputy do-right over there?"

"What?"

Daryl pointed with two fingers, "Second from the back, that one there was a Georgia state trooper."

"So?"

"Think, Beth. Unless my eyes are goin' bad, and they ain't, he still has his gun. We're lucky, he may have an extra clip. Get somethin' other than that lil pocket axe you been swingin'."

"Hey, I've been doin' pretty well with that little _pocket axe_."

He cast a glance toward her, the barest hint of a smirk on his mouth, "Didn't say otherwise. Wanna gun or not?"

"Yes."

"Well, alright then."

That said, he led her along a zigzagging pattern through the trees, the two of them closing in on the small herd. As they drew nearer, Daryl sent a bolt careening through the lead walker's head. That was one of the few good things about the walkers. No special awareness. They tended not to notice when one of their own went down. So instead of looking around for the assassin that took out their comrade, they just continued stumbling along. So, Daryl paused, reloaded his bow and took down another. By that point, however, they were close enough that the remaining three had caught their scent.

Beth went straight for the trooper walker. It only seemed right that she take him out as she was the one in need of his weapon. She swung her little _pocket axe _at its skull as Daryl dispatched of the other two, using his buck knife with that ruthless kind of efficiency that he seemed to have been born with. He joined her by the dead trooper when he was done. Beth unbuckled the gun belt from around the trooper's waist. She pulled it from under him, un-holstered the gun to check the clip. Daryl was rifling through the trooper's pockets looking for anything that might be of use. There was a large, black Maglite attached to the gun belt. It was too heavy for Beth to be comfortable so she detached it and handed it to Daryl before fastening the belt around her hips. Daryl checked that the light worked before shoving it into his bag. He had also found a good sized knife in the trooper's pocket. He flicked it open, tested its sharpness with the pad of his thumb, then closed it and held it out to Beth.

"You tuck that down in your boot," he ordered.

Beth took the black handled, military style knife from his hand and did as he said. It didn't really sit comfortably against her ankle, but she would get used to it.

Daryl watched Beth straighten out from her crouch and braced himself for the now familiar tightening in his chest. She had a gun now; she had her hatchet and a new, perfectly sharpened knife. He could at least be satisfied that she was suitably armed. Right now, every little advantage that he could give her mattered. She knew how to handle a gun, was actually a pretty decent shot. Look pretty damn cute with a glock strapped to her hip, too.

He'd just keep that tidbit to himself.

He steered his thoughts away from that particular subject. It was just better if he didn't think about her being cute. Or beautiful. Sure as hell not sexy. As though reading his mind, Beth walked over to one of the other downed walkers and bent over it. Daryl found himself staring at her perfectly heart shaped rear end.

Dammit.

He shook it off and went to retrieve his bolts. Now was not the time to torture himself. He could do that plenty when they stopped for the night. Hell, that had practically become part of his routine. She claimed she couldn't get comfortable unless she used him as a pillow, so he let her. But only until he was sure that she was sleeping. Then he would slip as far away from her as caution would allow. But he'd watch her.

He watched her peaceful, slumbering face and thought about how soft her skin would be, how sweet she'd probably taste, how innocent she really was. Then, he'd curse at himself in his head for an hour or two and get back to keeping watch. That had become his nightly ritual more or less.

Beth joined him as he cleaned off his bolts and the two of them continued on their way. As they went, Daryl couldn't help but grin at the way Beth's hand rested on the butt of her newly acquired pistol. She was keeping her guard up, his girl.

"Alright," he said, abruptly breaking the silence, "huntin' lesson." He held the crossbow out to her, "Let's see if you can bag our dinner."

They would need to stop for her to hunt. He was quick enough that he could take down a few small critters on the move. She wasn't. Not yet. She would need still and quiet if they had hopes of her getting anything. They would need to stop, which would lose them time. It wasn't a rational call on his part and for the life of him, he wasn't sure why he was doing it. But he wanted her to have confidence in her hunting abilities. If they were ever separated again (like he was _ever _going to let that happen) he wanted her to be able to take care of herself. She shouldn't need to rely on anyone else. Ever.

He set her up against a tree. Now, all she had to do was wait. Wait and let the prey come to her.

Beth stood there as Daryl went and propped himself up against a tree about ten feet from her. He wanted her to catch their dinner for the night. Okay, then. She took a breath and cleared her mind to focus on her surroundings.

For some reason, her mind didn't clear but wandered back to that day she had first seen Daryl. They had just lost Otis; she had been sad and clinging to Jimmy—oh, sweet, sweet Jimmy—and he had come roaring up the driveway of the farm on his motorcycle, the leader of the little convoy that would become her family. How long ago that all seemed now; ages; a distant memory.

She remembered being so scared and fascinated by him. Then, she had hated him for a while. He had been the one to shoot her mother. He probably didn't remember that. Andrea had killed Annette, but when she had first come pouring from the barn after Shane broke the lock, Daryl had been the one to shoot her. It was an image that had never really left her. After a while, she realized what she knew to be gospel now. Her mother had been dead for a long time before then. She wouldn't say she had ever forgiven Daryl the act. More that she had realized that there had been nothing to forgive. He hadn't done anything wrong. At the time, it had served to add to her fear of him.

She glanced over to where he leaned against his tree, his arms crossed over his chest, he steady blue gaze fixed on her. She couldn't imagine it now; being afraid of him. Daryl would never do anything to hurt her—or anyone that he cared about for that matter. God help the person who did. No. All she felt with Daryl now was safe and comfortable.

And a healthy dose of lust.

That was another thing that she had come to accept. She had gone and let herself fall in love with Daryl Dixon and being around him, being close to him had a deep, pulsing fire burning low in her belly. Lord, what she wouldn't give to know if he felt anything like that for her.

Great. The world was overrun by dead cannibals, she didn't know if any of her family was still alive and there was band of psychotic miscreants chasing them with a bagful of bad intentions. All that and what she thought about more than anything else was whether or not Daryl's feelings matched her own.

Stupid.

But it wasn't something that she could help. She needed to know. She needed to be proactive and figure out exactly what was between them. Then, she could stop obsessing about it. It was the perfect solution. She just needed to figure out how she was going to do that.

A squirrel scurried in front of her on a tree about twenty yards away. Daryl and she saw it at the same time. Beth aimed the crossbow, took a breath and squeezed the trigger. The bolt smashed into the tree and the furry little squirrel scampered away, unhurt.

Beth's shoulders slumped as she lowered the crossbow in defeat. In a blink, Daryl was by her side relieving her of the heavy weapon. He gave the back of her neck a squeeze and went to collect the bolt.

"Barely missed," he said as he walked, "A little more practice. You're gettin' there."

As Beth fell into step beside him, Daryl reached over and took her by the elbow. He liked doing that. He could use the excuse that he was just making sure she stayed close, but the truth was that he just enjoyed being able to touch her. He drew her the slightest bit closer to his side.

"Thinkin' we'll find somewhere to bed down for the night," he said, "and tomorrow maybe we'll head back toward those train tracks. See where those lead us for a ways."

"I thought you wanted to stay off the track. Find a town." Beth said, easing her elbow out of his grasp and tucking her hand into his.

"Yeah," he said, appreciating to contrasting roughness of her palm and softness of the skin at the back of her hand, "but the woods are getting' denser, thicker. We ain't come across a town yet. Maybe we can find a station or a stop or somethin'. Maybe find a map."

Beth wanted to ask him again about Terminus, but every time she brought it up, he got all irritable and grumpy. She didn't want to deal with grumpy Daryl, right now. Not tonight. Tonight she was going to find out how he felt about her.

"So, we're gonna stop for the night first?"

"Yeah. It's gettin' dark. We'll find somewhere."

"Good."

A pile of dead biters. Joe counted ten of them. Daryl and his petite treat had taken down ten dead assholes. He had always known that Daryl would have been a valuable addition to his boys. Looking at the carnage before reiterated that fact and served to piss him off on a whole new level. He blamed Blondie. She showed up and Daryl went all misty eyed and pussy-whipped. And Daryl, who did that little bitch think he was? Thinking he could just tag along with the boys, enjoy their hospitality and generous nature and then cut out whenever he _felt _like it. And all because of some fucking woman! That just wasn't how things worked.

Joe would teach him.

Joe would teach him that every action has consequences and you had better be prepared to suffer those consequences before you pull some punk ass move. Betrayal was an action that had _big _consequences. And in Joe's opinion, where that bitch Daryl and his little blonde whore were concerned, the suffering would know no limits.

**A/N: Okay, that's it for now. For the record, that little part that I put in there about Daryl shooting Beth's mom at the barn, that's true. I have been watching season two lately and Daryl totally shot her in the face! Thought it was kind of interesting that he was the one to do that and wanted to pay it homage in my story.**

** Anyway, I don't have a poll question for this chapter. I have a few thought up for future ones, but it didn't feel right to tag one to this chapter. Please review though. I am curious as to your thoughts on what has happened and what may happen. Thanks for reading! Please, please, please, **_**please **_**review! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Hello everyone! As always, huge heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone for reviewing. I am super nervous about the chapter and feel like I should warn you about what is coming but I will let you read on and find out yourself. Please, please review. As I said, I am nervous about this and would love to hear your thoughts on it. Without further commentary, enjoy the chapter! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Ten**

At one point or another, it had been a maintenance shed of some kind. It was small, only one ten by ten room with cinderblock walls and a heavy metal door. It was the perfect place to catch a few hours of sleep. Daryl had managed to do what Beth had not and killed them a squirrel for dinner. They had cooked it up at dusk, then Daryl had kicked dirt over the fire and covered the remnants with dead leaves. The squirrel hadn't been much, but it was greasy and fatty and that was something that their bodies were in desperate need of. It had also served to quiet Beth's ever-rumbling stomach. She had asked if they could open on of the cans that she carried in her bag, but Daryl had said no.

"Best save those for a night I can't catch us somethin'."

"Don't you always catch somethin'?"

"Smartass."

After that, and long after the sun had disappeared beyond the horizon, they had stumbled across the little shed. They wouldn't stay long. Not even the full night. It would be too hard to secure and would only serve to trap them if they were surrounded, but they could use it to sleep for just a little while. Get some needed rest; catch their breath.

Daryl leaned against the cold metal door and watched via the dim light of their pilfered lantern as Beth spread a wool blanket from his own pack over the floor. She took off her sweater and rolled it into a ball as a makeshift pillow. Then, from her bag, she withdrew her own blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Unable to resist the need to be just a little closer to her, Daryl pushed away from the door, crossed the room and crouched on his haunches by her side.

"Try to get some sleep, 'kay." He said.

"Daryl, I been thinkin'."

"'Bout?"

"Well," she sat up to put them on an even level. She had been thinking. She had been thinking that she was in love with this difficult, complicated, rough neck man and she might just go crazy if she didn't find out how he felt about her. She knew that he cared about her but to what extent? And he kept himself closed up tighter than a damn bank vault. It was now or never. Time to take matters into her own hands, so the speak. If she wanted to know what was behind that vault door, she was just gonna have to break out the dynamite.

"I was thinkin' that you gave me my first drink."

"Mmm."

"You gave me my first trackin' lesson. Took me on my first huntin' trip."

"There a point comin'?"

Instead on answering him, Beth leaned forward and press her lips to his.

Daryl reeled, threw his head back, tripped over his own feet and landed on his butt. He scooted back away from her until his back hit the cement wall, eyes wide, staring at her like she was a poisonous snake about to strike or something along those lines. His face was an expression of pure, unbridled panic. But Beth had come too far to back down now. So, she followed him to the wall.

She crawled into his lap and without giving him a chance to say or do anything, she once again sealed her mouth over his. She nibbled and kissed and teased his lips, trying to coax a response from him. When he remained as motionless as a statue, she didn't let herself feel discouraged. Instead, she began trailing a path of light kisses and nips along his jawline and down his neck. That was when she heard the soft, almost whimper from the back of his throat.

Daryl couldn't think straight, couldn't move, couldn't get himself together. His heart was beating so hard he thought it just might bruise one of his ribs. That wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. He was dreaming again. He'd wake up sweaty and horny and push it all down because the most important thing in the world was keeping this girl safe and sound. Then he felt the bite of her sharp little teeth at his throat and the sensation sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin. His brain acknowledged that he was in fact awake. Beth's soft warm lips moved up and closed around his earlobe at the same time her small, cool hands ran up his chest to slide his leather cut and the flannel jacket underneath from his shoulders. He let her.

He didn't know what else to do. He couldn't seem to get his brain to fully function. He didn't know what to do with his hands. He _wanted _to touch her. He wanted to touch her so badly he thought that he might die from it. But should he? Could he? Her deft little fingers unbuttoned the top three buttons of his remaining shirt and skimmed feather light touches over the bare skin of his chest before sliding up to rest at the sides of his neck, her thumbs caressing his jawline as she brought her lips up to his once more. Daryl started to flinch away out of pure instinct but Beth's hold tightened on the side of his face, keeping him still.

He was going to push her away. He _had _to. He lifted his hands to do just that. He had every intention of shoving her off of his lap, setting her on the other side of the cramped shed and telling her to stay there for her own sake and his own sanity.

Then, something happened.

He felt the smooth, warm brush of her tongue against his lips and before his brain could register what his body was doing, he opened his mouth to allow her the access she desired. Her tongue slid inside and she tasted just as sweet as he had somehow known that she would. All at once, her tongue wasn't enough for him. He wanted more. He needed more. The hands that he had raised to push her away rose higher and cupped the back of her head, drawing her closer.

And he was kissing her back.

He slipped into the silky recesses of her mouth, tasting more of her warmth, more of her honeyed flavor. The soft strands of her pale gold hair were tangled around his fingers. Beth shifted on his lap until she was straddling his hips, her own hands now clutching his hair, holding him to her.

There was a part of Beth that worried that this would turn out not to be real; that any minute she would wake up tucked away at a nice, safe distance away from Daryl. And what a shame that would've been. When he finally responded to her kiss, it had started off so—gentle. Almost—innocent. Testing. Unsure. But it had steadily intensified in both desire and aggression. He started kissing her with a hunger that bordered on desperation. He used his tongue, his teeth. His mouth moved over hers in a consuming, devouring, intoxication fervor, the likes of which she had never experienced before. Then, he traveled from her lips, nipped at her chin, tugged her head back using her hair and dragged his tongue across the column of her throat.

Beth couldn't seem to catch her breath. She felt overheated and her skin was tingling all over. She couldn't get close enough, needed to be closer to him, as close to Daryl as she could get. She trailed her hands down over his shoulders, his chest, his flat belly. Feeling all of the sudden clumsy, she began fumbling with his belt buckle.

That was when whatever leash that Daryl had always kept tight on his self-restraint—snapped.

He hooked an arm beneath her rear end and pushed up from the wall. He laid her out on the blanket and fell on her, covering her body with his own. From then, it all became a tangle of clothing and limbs. Their hands bumped and twisted as they struggled with buckles and buttons and zippers.

As far as first times go, it was hardly every little girl's fantasy. There were no candles; no romantic music; there wasn't even a bed. Just a thin, scratchy wool blanket on a hard concrete floor with a flickering lantern in the corner. Beth's shirt and bra were shoved up under her armpits. Her jeans and underwear dangled from one leg. Daryl's black jeans were shoved halfway down his thighs but he was otherwise still mostly dressed. It was hardly a Danielle Steele moment.

But to Beth it was perfect.

It was Daryl.

Daryl kept telling him to slow down, be careful, be gentle. _It was her first time_! But he couldn't. As soon as he pushed into the welcoming tightness of her body, what little bit of control he had managed to hold onto vanished. He wasn't exactly rough with her, that wasn't the word for it. But he wasn't nearly as considerate—as tender as he should have been, as she deserved.

Beth didn't want this feeling to end. His hands were everywhere, he kissed her everywhere and touched her everywhere. There wasn't a place on her body that lacked in his attentions. It was what she had been waiting for her entire life.

She made these breathy little sounds from deep in the back of her throat that Daryl thought might drive him out of his mind it he wasn't already there. He plunged into her harder, wanting more of those sounds, more of those gasps, more of her, more of everything. He wanted to swallow her whole, devour her, absorb her so that he could keep her all to himself. Forever.

When the end came, his trembling muscles gave out and he collapsed on top of her, dead weight. It took surprising effort to take in a full lungful of oxygen. Only when he felt Beth's hand slide under his shirt and up his back did rational thought return. He rolled away from her onto his back and covered his face with his hands.

_Good Lord_, he thought. What had he done? He taken her virginity on a dank, cold, cement floor like some kind of fucking animal. He glanced over at her from the corner of his eye. She lay there in her state of almost undress, bare skin lightly sheened in sweat, all of her curves and plains on display. With a heady dose of self-disgust, he felt the heat stir in his belly again. He had violated her, stripped her of her purity and innocence and no more than two minutes later, all he could think about was how he wanted her again. Again and again and again. There were little red marks over her neck, arms and stomach. Beard burn. He rubbed a hand over his scruffy cheeks.

Dammit.

She turned her head and caught him looking at her. Then, she smiled at him and his stomach jumped into his throat.

Clearing his throat, as though he might push it back down, he jerked his pants up and rolled into a sitting position.

Beth felt an unpleasant quiver in her belly as she watched his movements. Her skin, which had only moments ago been producing enough heat to rival the sun, suddenly chilled to an arctic cold. He was going to pull away from her. _Again_.

_Damn you, Daryl Dixon_, she thought. She tugged her bra and shirt back into place and eased her bare foot through the leg holes of her panties and blue jeans.

"Daryl," she sighed.

Chewing on the tip of his thumb, he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Her heart seized in her chest, "Don't—"

"Too damn late for that," he snarled.

"Wait, you're mad?" She had expected a certain amount of withdraw, awkwardness even. She knew him too well no to expect those things. She had, however, been unprepared for his anger.

Daryl wanted to hit something; really pound on it. If he could have kicked his own ass, he would have done it and gladly. Beth made for a convenient target, but lashing out at her offered no release as it only served to make him even madder at himself. He stood up and started prowling around the small room feeling trapped, caged, claustrophobic. He needed air and just couldn't seem to fill his lungs.

Beth had her knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on the tops of them. She watched him move about the shed with something akin to wariness in the depths of those blue eyes. He wanted to touch her again. He was in actual physical pain with the want to touch her again. But he knew that if he let himself go back there, if he gave in, he'd be lost and that was a risk he couldn't take. The smell of sex hung heavy in the air, so thick that Daryl thought he might choke on it. He needed to get away from this place, away from that goddam shed.

"Pack your shit," he said, "let's get outta here."

"Daryl—"

"Said let's go."

**A/N: Okay, that's all for now. No Joe this chapter. Nor is there a poll. I didn't want to detract from the gravity of what just happened between Daryl and Beth. Please let me know what you think. Please, please, please review. I am nervous about this chapter. Thanks so much for reading! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I made no secret that I was extremely nervous posting the last chapter. I am thrilled that it was well received. **

**Pennedbyme & Kenzimone- Thank you. I did spend a lot of time thinking of how I thought Daryl would react to such a strong emotional situation and in the past, he has always hidden behind a mask of anger. If there was ever a situation that would elicit a strong emotional reaction from him, I think that would be it. **

**An Amber Pen- I think you will enjoy this! **

**Peaceandpeacemakers- All I can say is LOL!**

**Quesera1, K. Lynn Perks & shelly2- Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea. Thank you. **

**Ktut- I am the same way. Thank you for the compliment. I am so glad that you were able to see the emotion that I was trying to convey. That is so important to me. **

**Seeallthebeauty- Thank you. I am so thrilled you noticed that 'tiny, tiny detail.' I feel like if something ever happens between them, it will be a total loss of control and things like clothing tend to get overlooked when everything else that is happening is so overwhelming. I am thrilled you picked up on that. **

**Okay, enough of my blathering. On to the chapter. Don't forget to review and let me know what you think! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Eleven**

Beth had lost count of how many times she had tripped as she stumbled along behind Daryl in her efforts to keep up with the neck breaking pace he had set. He had reverted back to those abrupt one word commands and caveman grunts. He wouldn't look at her. He barely acknowledged that she was even with him. And he was walking a good ten or so steps ahead of her. Since they had escaped together, he had never once put that much physical distance between them. It was disconcerting to say the least. Aside from that, she felt as though she was going around in circles with him and it was really starting to try her patience. It was always one step forward and two steps back with him. Had she really messed up that badly?

Then, setting aside her emotional trauma, there was an unfamiliar soreness between her legs with every step that she took. She didn't mind the pain. It wasn't horrible, more uncomfortable and somewhere in the back of her brain, she actually relished in it. It served as a bittersweet reminder that what had transpired between them was real. It had happened. It hadn't been a dream or a fantasy but a turning point in her life. And it had been wonderful.

Right up until the moment Daryl had sat up and walked out.

_Damn him! Damn him! Damn him!_ She thought. He was just stubborn enough that he would fight her every step of the way on this! She was in love with him. Old news. He clearly had feelings for her that went beyond friendship and protection as well, but he'd sooner chew off his own damn tongue than admit to it.

"C-can we slow down a little bit?" she puffed.

"No."

"Really?" Beth demanded, coming to a stop, "Are we gonna do this _again_?"

Daryl didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. "Keep up," he said without looking back at her.

"No!" Beth did her best impression of the Daryl Dixon growl.

That got his attention. He ceased his stomping and turned back to face her. His eyes were narrowed slits and Beth didn't give a damn. She was just as pissed off at him. She wasn't going to go through this anymore. Not again. Not ever. She just wasn't. No.

"Are you pissed at me?" her tone was incredulous.

Daryl stared at her for a long beat, "Ain't got time for this, Beth."

"Well, then, make some!" she hissed, "If you're mad at me, that's fine. But tell me. I can handle it. Shout at me, shake me, hell, you can hit me if it'll make you feel better," he looked the slightest bit offended at that, "but say somethin'! Talk to me!"

She watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched several times. "Not mad at you."

Beth took a few tentative steps toward him, chewing mercilessly on her bottom lip, "Then, what's the problem?"

Daryl wanted to scream and shout and rail against God and the universe at large. He wanted to throw his head back and howl out his agony. How had he managed to screw up this badly? All he wanted to do for the rest of his life was keep her safe. It was something that he was good at; keeping people alive. He had never shied away from doing what was necessary to survive, no matter how brutal or what the personal cost may be. But a few hours ago, he had crossed a line that he never have even looked at—and it had had nothing to do with survival.

It had been the greatest thing that he had ever experienced in his life.

Also a very, very big mistake.

"We need to keep movin'," he said.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, yet."

Wary and irritated, Daryl strapped his crossbow to his back. He remembered she used to be a timid little thing. What the hell? He crossed his arms over her chest and fixed her with a steely eyed glare that had been known to send grown men cowering into a corner. Apparently, nobody had bothered to explain this fact to Beth, because her only response was to cross her own arms, cock one hip out to the side and glare right back at him. The only noise was the sound of a couple of birds chirping away at each other in the tree branches above their heads. As Daryl stared at her, Beth's chin jutted forward slightly, her eyes glinted in challenge, daring him to tell her to get moving again. When Daryl could stand the heavy weight of the silence no longer, he swung his arms out wide from his body, "Dammit, girl, what do you want from me?"

Beth blinked once, but other than that, her expression didn't change.

"What? What? You wanna sit here, chattin'? Talk about our feelin's? Have a nice lil heart to heart while waitin' for that band of psychos to catch up to us?" he bellowed.

"So, you're admittin' that you _have _feelings?" Beth snapped.

That stung. That stung a hell of a lot more than he would have ever thought it would. But this was Beth—and she knew him. First, that jab that he could hit her if he wanted to. He had never hit a woman and he would sure as hell never lay a hand on her like that. He'd break his own arm first. Now, accusing him of having no feelings. Dammit. He had opened up to her about things that he had never mentioned to anyone. Ever.

"C'mon, Beth, what the hell?"

She blinked those large, blue eyes, glassy with moisture, at him. "How can you act like nothin' happened? Like nothin's changed?"

"Nothin' has changed."

"Yes, it has!"

"Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout."

"Yes, you do!"

Every single muscle in his body went taut. He didn't want to talk about this. He didn't want to think about it, acknowledge it or comment on. It was a single lapse in judgment, a miraculous moment in time that he would lock away in a box in the back of his mind and only take out in the dead of night when it was safe and he was alone and needed something bright to think about. Other than that, it was best to pretend that it had never happened. Then, he could focus on his objective; keeping Beth alive and safe.

Her eyes bore into his, welling up with those unshed tears as she pleaded with him for something that he didn't think he was capable of giving. He opened his mouth, but whatever he would have said was lost as a walker burst from out of nowhere and grabbed her. They both tumbled to the ground. He had been some busy screaming at her, he hadn't heard the damned thing approaching.

"Beth!" he exclaimed, swinging his crossbow around and closing the gap between them.

Beth, screaming through clenched teeth, had one forearm braced against the walker's chest holding it away from her body and her other hand pushed against the underside of its chin, trying to keep as much distance between its teeth and her flesh as she could. A bolt went clean through its head to stick in the earth at her side. The walker's body went limp, pinning her to the ground beneath its lifeless weight. And then Daryl was at her side.

His bow clattered to the dirt as Daryl dropped and reached down to grab the walker by the back of its crusty dress. He hauled it off of her and shoved it to the side. As soon as she was free of the burden, she latched onto Daryl. She practically climbed up his body and closed her arms around his neck. Daryl sat down and pulled her into his lap, held her tight as she buried her face in his neck.

Daryl struggled to draw breath. He could feel her entire body trembling. Or was that him? Hell, it didn't matter. She was okay. That was all that was important.

What the hell was he going to do with her?

Beth pulled back so that she could see his face. So many things were going on in the depths of his eyes, it broke her heart. But, as if she needed another walker to push the point across, they didn't know how long they had left on the earth, let alone together. Why spend it unhappy? "It happened, Daryl." She said.

Daryl released a long breath. He didn't pretend anymore to not know what she was talking about. Instead, he touched his forehead to hers, "I know."

"And Daryl," she went on.

"Hmm?"

"I want it to happen again."

Daryl's eyes closed as though he were in pain, but that was the only reaction that she got. When he didn't say anything, she reached up and twisted her hands into the leather of his cut. She held on so hard that her knuckles turned white. She wanted him to know that she was serious. "This is happening. You, me, us. It's happening. Deal with it."

At first, Daryl thought of jerking away from her; just dumping her out of his lap, standing up and walking away. He was pretty sure she'd follow him. Then, he considered the likelihood that she would let him get away with something like that. The thought almost made him smile.

Not his girl.

Beth waited with bated breath until Daryl gave the small, almost imperceptible succession of head jerks that he considered nods. She smiled. She couldn't help it even she had wanted to.

_So, that's the secret,_ she thought to herself. All it took to get Daryl to suck it up and admit that there was something between them had been a near death experience.

Great.

Oh, what the hell, she'd take it.

"Okay, then," she said before leaning forward and pressing a hard, brief kiss to his lips. She leapt to her feet and started walking, tossing a glance over her shoulder, "what're we waitin' for? Let's get movin'!"

Daryl didn't move right away. Instead, he sat there for another second trying to figure out exactly what had just happened. Somehow, some way, in the middle of a damn walker attack, he was pretty sure he'd just been bulldozed by a 5'5" blonde who weighed a buck fifteen soaking wet. She had gotten about twenty or so steps away before stopping and turning back to him once more.

Her eyebrows raised, "We gonna sit here all day? Let's go."

She almost reminded him of himself in that moment, which was a terrifying thought. But it made him smile all the same. Just a little.

"Yes, ma'am," he responded, pushing himself up and falling into step beside her.

He still didn't know if this was a good idea; this change in their relationship. He didn't know if it would be too distracting. What if it caused him to lose focus? What if he messed up? What if she got hurt? What if he let her down? But, he was tired. He was tired of fighting his feelings. He was tired of the effort he had to put into hiding his attraction and attachment to her. Maybe, if he channeled all of the energy that he had been expending in keeping her at arm's length into finding them a safe haven, it would all balance out. He didn't have to hide from her anymore. And hiding had been exhausting.

Maybe it would all be for the best.

After, all, how much was really going to change?

Joe stood alone inside the old, concrete shed. He hadn't let the boys in. He wouldn't let them in. This was for him. Him alone.

Earlier, they had uncovered evidence of charred earth and scorched leaves. Daryl had built them a fire. The smart boy must only do it when the sun is up, else Joe would have spotted them long before. Clever, clever boy.

But Joe had still found it.

And now, he stood in the tiny room. He could smell them. His body grew tight and warm with arousal. He could smell their sex. They had fucked in here. It was still in the air, the sweat, the hormones, the salty smell of his cum and her pussy. He licked his lips thinking about it, picturing it. Their naked, glistening bodies writhing together. He wanted to see it.

More, he wanted to participate.

He wanted to tie Daryl up and make him watch as he violated his sweet little thing in every way the human brain could imagine and Joe had a hell of an imagination. He wanted to use every orifice on her body. He wanted her to scream and cry and try to get away.

He wanted Daryl to scream and cry and try to save her and beg him to just kill them both. He wanted to bring them to a point where death felt like a release and then deny them that release.

He chuckled and reached down to adjust himself through his jeans.

He wanted to hurt Daryl.

He wanted to hurt Blondie.

He wanted to break them both.

**AN: Okay, I need to say this because I want to justify something that I wrote. Earlier in the chapter I had Beth say to Daryl, "Hit me if you think it will make you feel better." There is a scene in season two that always bugged me and it is after they find Sofia in the barn and Daryl is pissed and Carol says to him, "Go ahead," implying that it is okay with her if he hits her. This always bothered me. I understand that it was her way of letting him know that she would care about him no matter what, but to me it always seemed like she was saying, 'I get that you're an abusive asshole, but I'm used to that and I like you anyway.' She made it okay for him to be scum, when Daryl was never that way. I can't think that he would ever hit a female, even with Merle's influence. I don't really think Merle would have ever hit a woman pre-governor. **

** Every time Beth has spoken to Daryl, it has been to say 'you are a good person and it is NOT okay for you to treat people badly.' I went back and forth on having her say for him to hit her. In the end, I felt like she would use it as a wakeup call for him and not because she would ever in her wildest dreams think that he would actually do it. **

** Anyway, I just wanted to explain my thoughts behind that. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Please, please, please review. Also, if anyone had an idea for a poll question, let me know what it is! I have one, but I want to hold off on it for a few chapters! Thanks! REVIEW! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**The Walking Dead**_** nor am I in any way affiliated with the show, the comics or AMC. This is strictly a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only. Thanks.**

**A/N: As always, everyone who reviewed, you have my heart. Thank you so much for the encouragement. It means the world to me. Please continue to do so. I am having so much fun writing this, it is good to know that you are enjoying it. Please, please, please let me know what you think about this chapter as well. **

** Alright, on to the story! **

**Hunted**

**Chapter Twelve **

Nearly a month had passed. Joe had spent almost an entire _month _chasing after that boy and his fresh faced little whore. Not that time mattered much anymore, anyhow. Even it if did, it wouldn't make a difference to him. Not in this case. He would hunt Daryl to the ends of the earth, until one or both of them were dead.

And he was getting close.

He had done some fast talking, peppered with just the right mixture of encouragement and threats to convince his boys that they couldn't keep leaving the trail at dusk to find buildings for shelter. They were mean, dammit, and they would stop cowering in the dark. That had made up some time. Add to that the fact that the boys slept less comfortably outside; they were more inclined to get up and get moving before dawn. That made up even more time.

Daryl was a smart. It had taken Joe a while to figure out what he was doing when he had found the trail. He and his little bitch would walk along the tracks for a while and then cut into the woods for a while. Eventually, the always made their way back to the tracks though. Joe thought it might be a smart move to just stay on the tracks to intercept them, but he didn't want to pass them by. He didn't want to give them the advantage of coming upon him and the boys from an angle which Joe might not see them first.

Maybe it was a better call to just keep following in their footsteps and try to catch up.

He needed to think on it a little bit. But for now, the comfort was in the notion that the distance that separated him from Daryl, and from that little bit of sweetness he had with him, was growing shorter and shorter every day.

Yes.

He was almost on them. He would have them.

This was the most fun he had had since the world ended.

Hell, maybe even before that.

It had been days since that night in the shed and the subsequent argument in the woods. Seven? Ten? It was hard to really keep track. Nothing had changed but everything had changed. They camped only for a few hours each night; only long enough to get the barest amount of sleep. Then, still under the cover of a darkened sky, they followed the train tracks. When dawn came, Daryl would steer them into the woods for better cover. He didn't tense up quite as much anymore when Beth leaned against him to sleep, or just for comfort's sake. She could still feel the tightening of his muscles at the initial contact, but not instead of staying that way, he would almost instantly relax. It was a good sign, she thought.

They had had sex twice more.

Of course, both of those times Beth had basically attacked him in his sleep.

He told her that she was too loud; she made too much noise; she would attract the walkers. He even went so far as too cover her mouth with his hand at one point, which Beth was not ashamed to admit had only turned her on even more. She would have tried to quiet herself but there had been this look in his eye when he had said it, a look that made her think that he _liked _that she was loud. And she wanted that. She wanted him to want to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. So far, she had been the only one to start something. He hadn't rebuffed her, not once since their fight. But every kiss, every night she leaned against him, every physical sign of affection had been initiated by her.

At first this had bothered her. Until one morning, she had glanced over at him as they broke camp. He had been moving leaves and dirt around, hiding any disturbed ground, covering their tracks as best he could and it had dawned on her. Those stupid little symbols of affection that girls her age had always put so much stock in back in that other life; those were meaningless, useless and Daryl wasn't that guy. Those weren't the things that mattered. Daryl showed his affection every night when he made sure that she was fed before he ate anything himself, he made sure she kept warm at night, he made her drink plenty of water to stay well hydrated. He showed his affection every time he looked her in the eye, every time she touched him and he didn't pull away, every time he taught her something new to help ensure that she could survive. Every time he smiled. It was a revelation of monumental proportions and it caused Beth to feel as light as a feather for the rest of that day. Daryl Dixon was not a man who was going to pull her into his arms and whisper sweet nothings into her ear. She doubted he even knew any sweet nothings; he wasn't that guy. He was too straight forward for that. No, Daryl let her know that he cared for her by doing just that, taking care of her. Plain and simple.

So, she would do her best to take care of him as well.

It was still a few hours until dawn when they reached the train tracks. Daryl was determined to cover a lot of ground before the sun came up. Beth understood that but she was starting to feel—like that were okay. It had been so long and they always seemed to be moving; surely they had put enough distance between themselves and Joe. That was if the man had even been able to pick up their trail at all. _Surely _they had reached a point where they could start to breathe easier. Be safe.

Maybe start to find a way to be happy.

Daryl knew that Beth wanted for him to tell her that they were good now; that now the biggest threat they faced were the walkers. He just didn't know and he wouldn't chance it. Not with her. He knew that there was more that she wanted from him, too. So much had happened that he was still trying to process it all. He wasn't sure that he knew how to do all this. He only had a handful of examples to draw from. His mom and pops had spent their days drinking and yelling and throwing things at each other. That was no help. He sure as shit wasn't going to treat Beth the way he had seen Merle treat his women, no. There was Rick and Lori—and Shane and Lori—yeah, that hadn't turned out so well, either. Then, of course, there was Maggie and Glenn. Great people that he would have done anything for but he wasn't really that kind of guy. So, no. No, he'd just keep being who he was and Beth would be who she was. She was strong; stronger than anybody he'd ever met. She'd help him with this—whatever it was.

Walking along the tracks, he noticed that she was lagging about two steps behind him. He didn't like that. He reached back for her hand and pulled her up to his side as she threaded her fingers through his. He had never really had that with anyone before; that closeness.

Unbidden, Carol came to mind.

Carol.

He wondered where she was, if she was okay, if she was even alive. Rick had thrown her out before the Governor's attack, so maybe she had made it somewhere safe. Somehow, he felt as though she had. Carol was a tough lady, she was a survivor. He wasn't fool enough to believe that he'd ever seen his friend again, but Beth had helped to give him the strength to have hope. And he hoped good things for Carol. He hoped that she was alive and that she could find someone out there and not be alone.

No one should have to be alone.

Without meaning to, he tightened his hold on Beth's hand.

Beth returned the squeeze and drew Daryl's attention back to present.

"Daryl," she said, her tone soft, almost timid, "do you think Maggie's alive?"

"Your sister's pretty touch, Beth."

"You don't, do you?"

Daryl hesitated only slightly before he responded, "I just dunno."

Beth licked her lips and took a fortifying breath. He was not going to be happy with the subject that she was about to bring up, but she had to say it. She had to. "If she is alive, I bet she'd head for Terminus."

"Beth—"

"Think about it. We're on our own. Everyone, if they made it out at all, they got scattered. Doesn't it seem logical that, after everything, they might try for a place offerin' safety? Especially considerin' how many of those signs we've seen."

"I don't trust it."

"I know. But what if it's for real? Don't we at least have to try?"

"Lemme think about it."

"You've been _thinking _about it!"

"Well, lemme think about it some more."

Beth wanted to shake him. She wanted to slap at him until he realized that what she was saying made perfect sense. What was worse was that he gave her a look as though she was the one being unreasonable. Daryl refused to trust anything. He had good reasons, she grant him that. But what kind of life could they build for themselves if they ran away from anything that even resembled community? And that's what she wanted to have with him—a life. Not just surviving but living. It was that desperate kind of hope in her heart that gave her the courage and confidence to say her next words.

"I think we should go to Terminus," she said.

"It might not be the smart move," Daryl replied.

"Daryl, I want to go to Terminus."

"I know that, Beth. I just haven't made up my mind, yet."

"And who said that you get to make all of the decisions?"

The question, her tone of voice, her no bullshit delivery, the whole package brought Daryl to a halt. Still holding her hand, he turned to face her. Her eyes were wide and had the hard glint of determination in them. She was ready to dig her heels in on this and Daryl had a sinking feeling in his gut that there wasn't a damn thing that he could do about it. In a move that was involuntary, he gave her hand a tug, bringing her body just a step closer to his.

"Listen—"

"No," Beth said, her voice soft and deadly earnest, "you've been callin' all the shots, which I admit is for the best. You're smarter and better at it than I am. But, Daryl, if there's a chance, if there's the slightest chance for us to find out people, our _family_, don't we have to at least try? We can't give up. We can't."

She was amazing. He didn't think there would ever come a time that she didn't absolutely captivate him. She had such optimism, such hope, such faith that things could and would be alright. He wanted to reach out to her, touch her hair, touch her face, stroke her. He wanted to kiss her lips. Instead, he took a breath. He filled his lungs with air and emptied them. He didn't want to be the one to take away that hope, that unshaking belief in good. But something about Terminus felt—off. It felt wrong. He didn't want to cut down her hopes but neither would he put her into a situation where he might not be able to protect her.

Beth watched Daryl's eyes. She wondered if he knew how much they conveyed his feelings. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but not when you looked into those blue eyes. She watched them harden. He was going to say no, and she couldn't let him. A tactical retreat was in order for the moment.

"Beth," he started.

"We should keep movin'."

Daryl didn't say anything; just let out another long breath. Beth let go of his hand and turned away to continue down the tracks. She heard him fall into step behind her, though he didn't attempt to close the distance between them. She was grateful for the small bit of space. She needed to think; needed to figure out how to convince him that Terminus was a viable option. They continued on the path before them in silence.

The silence didn't bother Beth as it once had. She remembered those first days that they had been alone together; she had never known a man to be so quiet. And Daryl Dixon had presence; he had a presence that seemed to vibrate the air around him. The strength of that presence combined with the completeness of the silence had intimidated her; made her uncomfortable. Now, that same presence and quiet; that overwhelming strength of will, was as comfortable and welcoming to her as a warm blanket.

She almost felt guilty about wanting to go against the decision that he had clearly already made in regards to Terminus.

Almost.

The inky blackness of night had quickly faded to the hazy mist blue of early dawn. Beth knew from routine that Daryl would want to get off of the tracks. She veered to the right, moved to step off into the woods. Daryl caught her by the elbow and yanked her back.

"Wait," he said.

He towed her forward about another ten yards before stopping. "What do you see?" he asked.

Beth stared back at him, her brows drawn together in obvious confusion. He pointed to the brush and repeated his question, "What do you see?"

Beth followed his gesture, her gaze raking over the trees, the branches, the ground. The first thing that drew her attention was a broken twig. It wasn't a huge sign, just a small twig dangling from its stem by a bit of bark still attached. Her eyes dropped to the ground directly beneath the twig. Crushed leaves, flattened down grass and trampled dirt. Her chest tightened.

"Somethin' came through here already," she said.

"What?"

She studied the direction of the pattern, searching for the clues that Daryl had taught her to determine size and movement. When understanding came, her stomach jumped up in her throat and she took a step back, bumping into Daryl's solid body. "People."

"Walkers?"

Beth shook her head, "People. More than one."

"How long ago?"

"I don't—I don't know. I can't tell."

Normally, Daryl would tell her to focus, to think it through and figure out a time line. But she was panicking and he wanted to get her moving again. So he moved closer to get a better look at the trail, "An hour. Maybe two."

Beth curled her fingers into the material of Daryl's shirt at his forearm, "Is it Joe?"

Daryl didn't look away from the evidence in the brush, "There's at least four of them. Maybe five. Numbers are right." He nudged her at the small of her back to get her walking again, "We'll keep to the tracks for now."

"In the open?"

"Yeah, I know. But I'll hear them before they see us. C'mon."

They hadn't been walking for more than twenty minutes when they came across an old train car—and another sign for Terminus. This one had a map. The settlement was nestled into an intersection, several train lines met all at this one place. Beth stopped in front of the map and Daryl stopped at her side. He watched as she ran her fingertips along the dark lines that led to Terminus on the paper. Then she cast a glance at him; her big blue eyes pleading, begging. How could her deny her? Who could?

"Alright," he growled, his heartbeat speeding up at the expression of pure delight that washed over her upturned face. He lifted a hand to keep her from getting too excited, "We'll check it out. I don't like it, we leave. Understood?"

"Understood," she said quickly and without hesitation before throwing her arms around his neck. He raised one hand to her ribcage, squeezed and then eased her away from him. She was smiling that damned loopy smile that got him every time. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, he reached up and tugged her chin between his thumb and forefinger. He thought about kissing her, but instead cleared his throat and stepped back.

"I'ma take a piss," he said, "Keep your back to the train. See anything, give a whistle."

Beth gave him a mock salute, to which Daryl made a rude noise and strolled to the other side of the train car. She watched him until he had rounded the car and then turned back to the map showing the way to Terminus. She traced the letters with her fingertip. Everything was going to be okay. She had Daryl and not they had a destination. Everything was going to be okay.

She leaned a shoulder against the train car to wait for Daryl to get back, smiling to herself. It was then that she heard a rustle in the bushes to her left. She pushed away from the train and stepped toward the direction of the noise.

"Daryl?" she called.

That was when a hand with bruising strength wrapped around her arm.

**A/N: Yeah, that's where I'm gonna leave off for now. I feel kinda like I should laugh manically. Well, I hope that you have enjoyed this chapter, please review and let me know your thoughts. **

** Okay, instead of a poll question this time, I need to vent a little. I recently saw a summary for a story that made me so mad. I won't say what story it is because I don't begrudge anyone their opinion, but in the summary they said that (this was a Caryl shipper, again to each their own) in the back eight of S4, they thought that Daryl was extremely OOC. I was so annoyed because A) how can a character be OOC when that is how they are written by the people who **_**actually write the show!?**_** And B) Norman Reedus, brilliant actor that he is, is very protective of Daryl and has argued his point with writers before and he said that he felt the back eight were some of the most beautifully written episodes that they had done. I read the story, it was not badly written, though I feel like they were trying to make Carol a more sympathetic character than she is. ( Love Carol. No Carol hate here.) Then I read the reviews and a reviewer referred to Beth as an idiot child. Again, I was so furious about this that I had to share or I would never stop thinking about it. This was in reference to her wanting to go and find a drink after she had just **_**lost her entire family!**_** Again, I will reference something that Norman Reedus said about the Beth character when he said that she was one of the most physically weak characters, but possibly one of the emotionally strongest. I agree whole heartedly. It wasn't about the drink for Beth. It was about living. She needed something the help her grieve so she came up with this "mission." She knew, and I think Daryl came to realize, that she, and by extension he, had to keep moving forward or they would completely fall apart. I think it was beautiful so seeing that summary and review just got to me. If you don't support a particular relationship, that is your opinion which you are entitled to and more power to you, but that is not an excuse to degrade another character. There is no call for that in my way of thinking. Anyway, sorry, I will get off my soap box now as this has nothing to do with my story or anything happening within it. It just irked me. Please forgive. **

** But feel free to express your own opinion on this when you review (hint, hint, wink, wink.) **


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